The wandering nomad and his chestnut mount wandered down the slope with the full breathtaking breadth of the plains ahead of them. Both man and creature were tired from the long journey that bore them here, but they were in silent agreement that they should at least complete the last leg to a source of water before they enjoyed a rest

Time was an enigma here. The downward hike towards the nearest stream might have been a few minutes or several hours, and yet it didn't matter either way. That strange energy ––push or pull, a tension, some sort of force–– that had led Nimand and Szen on their way was engulfing them down like a wellspring. The uneasy sense of distance and time, as well as the general aura of flowering life (and its darker counterpart) all, felt wrapped up in this strange feeling of energy. Most of all, this place, whatever it was, was a place of peace. And yet...

"There was once conflict here," Nimand said aloud, to his own surprise. His own ominous words seemed strange to his eyes, which saw nothing but beautiful plains and rolling hills, creatures of every kind frolicking without a fear to be had.

Yet the more he felt, the more he knew what he had said was true. Men and machines had travelled to this place, and although they may not have made war as Nimand had seen in the steppes of his forefathers, they had brought conflict here, to a sacred place that had forbidden it.

Once they reached it, the horse slipped into the stream to gulp at the water, and Nimand was only half as desparate for a drink. With cupped hands he threw some water up to his face and stood up again. The now damp Szen gave a quizzical look (or as quizzical an expression an equine face could give).

"We must keep going," Nimand explained. "Whatever is pulling us here is close. We should not rest until we find it."

Nimand stared. He had never seen a woman so pale or so ethereal as the one that now looked directly back at him. She was particularly present. Yes, he could see her, but there was something more. He felt aware of her. Nimand had always felt an intuitive sense of things in a way he could barely describe. He could always feel a person approach and he always knew where certain friends (chief of which, Szen and any other horse he knew well) could be found, but he had always assumed this was basic human instinct, or at least the honed instincts of a warrior of the steppes. However, he could feel that there was something powerfully present in the woman before him.

Szen must have thought the same. The still-damp horse was edging towards her. He nuzzled her, curiously, trying to figure her out.

"Forgive my friend," Nimand said, although he made no move to stay the horse. "Who are you?