Folding his arms about his slight form in a dancing embrace, Yesaria made his way through the Garden of Zais that his Master had once again called into the waking worlde. What can be told of the glories to be seen and felt there? What rhyme or measured verse can convey the joy and pleasure of being surrounded by such ancient and aeternal nature? Yesaria knew himself no poet, but felt content in letting the mysterii of this night surround and flow into the fibre of his being. Near the mouth of the cave where his Master sat enthroned over this land in shining majesty there was a low wall lining the boundary of the Garden all grown over with ivy. Fragrant grasses grew all about there, swaying faintly against the night breath in the dusk of the evening. Overhead, strange suns and planets seemed to wheel through a vaporous white curtain.

A short flag-stoned pathway led to the first of many alabaster bridges, all cunningly carven with faeries and daemons that joined in revelries unknown elsewhere in the living worlde, smiling arm in arm, twirling and prancing in the capture of the white stone. Before crossing this bridge that would lead him back into the arms of his Master, the young priest strayed to the edge of the streamlet that he might let his hands run over the carvings, wondering in what age or place these things had been depicting, or what hand had guided their creation. But the alabaster held no secret besides delight, and though it felt cool and refreshing beneath his hands there was no great answer or revelation. He smiled to himself, tracing the faint lines of wings fluttering in the stone, almost feeling their tickle beneath. He closed his eyes and bowed before the artistry before turning back to the path and crossing towards the heart of the Garden.

Of flora there was no end there, and through the scented blossoms of nephalot all around, Yesaria fancied he could hear if only faintly, the elfin fingers of the ebon-crowned prince strumming and dulling Zais into a deeper kind of slumber. Crossing into this land, he suddenly felt swoon, and though the desire to lay down amidst the peaceful dreams here he knew his Master wished to see him, to tell him something of what the stars had revealed recently. There he crossed over hillsides, all flowered with the lowly astalthon. He paused for a moment, to gather some up and tie in his hair. All about these fields small wisps of light could be seen, flickering between flower and forest - the first nymphs of the evening come to gather what dews they might for their festivities. He closed his eyes as he walked on, feeling their wings shift and quiver over his hands and arms, seeing their faint shadows as they came to touch the flowers in his hair.

He could sense the midnight sun full and high above, and he longed to dance in its colde and clean light. Deeper in the forest of the Garden, over further white bridges that tempted him to stay and sway in some kind of magick, the first of many statues appeared. His Master had said that some were beings called angels, and Yesaria found them both fascinating and somewhat frightening. They were all captured in various postures: some standing tall and regal looking towards the horizon, others kneeling as if in prayer, whilst still others seemed to be caught in mid-step in some great unheard cadence. There was something mysterious about them, and Yesaria was never sure if these beings were supposed to represent male or female images, as they seemed to have captured both in a single flawless stroke. The marble of the statues was of finer work than even the images of faeries and daemons carved along the bridges, so much that he felt some sorrow that these beings could not move or speak with him here.

They seemed frozen in tyme, and yet he could not help but to feel that somehow they could sense that he was near, or that their eyes seemed to follow his footsteps. Still feeling the flutterings of the nymphs, he bowed to the first statue on his way, admiring how the artist had created a subtle illusion - upon bowing one could almost imagine their wings shifting as the moonlight played along the different veins in the stone. With the faint breezes caressing through his free-flowing hair, he moved on. It was only on nights like this that he was allowed to unbraid his hair, and in these few tymes Yesaria found that his Master was apt to stroke his tresses as they wandered through the Garden.

He still wore the silken collar and its multi-coloured leash his Master had been so long in constructing, and he absently fingered it as he let his footfalls carry him towards the heart of Zais. Soon enough, through the dense curtain of vapours and the branches of younger trees he could make out the ancient oak. This was a great tree, and as he pressed his hands against its mighty trunk wondering for a moment what other hands had touched this primordial oak he could almost again make out the song-like melody of a harp playing from high above. He saw near the base of the tree the footprints of Iranon, and resting against the black earth all about he saw an ivy crown. Kneeling and letting his hands touch this holy relic, he felt again the near-rapture that his Master had the power to bring the Garden of Zais back into the waking worlde.

On some nights such as this, as he wandered in the arms of his Master, they could hear the maiden Nathicana singing of distant shores, and though they never could lay eyes upon her lest all this magick fade to a worm-peopled shadowy darkness, they wept in elation knowing that she was free again to seek her own solace here as of olde. Rounding the ancient towering oak with a wistful plea to the ebon-crowned prince that his music might continue without end, Yesaria followed his path to a clearing where he could already see a familiar silhouette. The sombre voice of his Master carried over the short distance remaining, but for the moment Yesaria paused, and though he longed to run to his lourde again there seemed to be some conversation that he did not wish to interrupt. As he studied the shadows, he noticed that two smaller shapes circled about the tall lean image of his Master.

The smaller shapes moved with a sensuous quality he could not quite identify, and it seemed that they had sensed him, for they came to rest near the feet of his lourde, and with that the dialogue ended. "Come to me, young one, and do not be afraid," called the daeva-man from where he stood with his back to Yesaria in the clearing. With a slight blush, the young priest stepped out of the woodland and saw something that at once intrigued him: licking the long-fingered hands of his Master were two leopards, one black as pitch and the other pale as a new fallen snow. They both looked towards Yesaria as he made his way forward, and their luminescent gaze held some silent power that stopped him where he stood. With a slight motion of his hands the Master called their eyes back to him, and with a whisper they sunk to the ground, staring like god-sent messengers in this Garden that held mysterii over the earth.

Their movement, to the flicking of their tails and the blinking of their shining eyes were identical though mirrored, as if his Master cast a polarised reflection. Their sleek coats both refracted various colours of the spectrum of moonlight, giving them both an aethery appearance. But as the twin cats settled with a yawn and a stretch, his Master turned towards where Yesaria stood not far from the forest. His face was lined with tears. Seeing this, Yesaria felt his heart verily burst asunder, and without care or glance to the languid beasts nearby, ran into the clearing and threw his arms about his lourde. As his Master returned the embrace, the young priest felt the same withholding as he always did in these moments: wrapped in those powerful arms the daeva-man had to be gentle, for during their first encounters he had let go his restraint, and apologised profusely for bruising the young priest without realising it until Yesaria's soft moans had turned painful.

Yesaria felt his Master's hands wandering through his hair, as he knew would happen, and could feel those strange tears against his cheek where their faces pressed together. Suddenly so close again he was caught in the drug-like aroma that seemed infused to his Master's strange skin. Being in the power of the Garden always made it all the more powerful and trance-like, making him feel weak in the knees. Sensing this as he sensed all things about Yesaria, the lourde carefully lowered him till they were kneeling together in their embrace." Tell me, o Lourde, what has caused these tears? What can there be of sorrow in the place of wonder and aeternal bliss?" He parted their embrace, and with trembling fingers touched those tears, and it was then that Yesaria realised that they too carried the same amberous colour as those eyes. In the pale moonlight, the young priest saw those eyes were afire with their own light again, blazing brightly against the woodland shadows that crept all about.

So close to their intensity, and feeling fragile in those arms, Yesaria felt his mind reeling. What evil could have stolen into this sanctuary? Ceasing for the moment his playful adoration of the young priest's flower-crowned tresses, the daeva-man cupped Yesaria's face, so filled with concern now, and placed a tender kiss on his quivering lips. "My love, my ardour, I tell you again not to fear. Instead, learn to treasure these moments, for whilst this frail Garden of Zais may seem like forever to you, soon enough it shall pass. One is coming..." And with that, another amber tear fell down his face. Yesaria lifted his hand again to touch his Master's tear, letting his fingers run over those lips that had once again blessed him with another kiss. Somewhere deep in a spell he always fell under around his lourde, the young priest felt a darkness encroaching. Something terrible was happening, and a feeling of despair suddenly overwhelmed him.

"Master! You have but to tell me what this thing is and I will send all the swords of this nation against it! I shall trade these simple garments for the gear of war if it will keep this thing of sorrow from you. You have but to say the word and..." But his Master covered Yesaria's mouth again with his own, and closing his eyes as he fell into this power, the young priest could feel his own tears begin to fall. It was then he felt something soft and warm rubbing against both his sides. He turned, bleary-eyed to see the two leopards staring at him with intelligence that defied their forms. Even their eyes, green and iridescent in the soft light, had the fervent look of worry, and leaning somewhat closer they began to lick his face. The strange feeling of their tongues moving over him and the soothing purr of the twin polarised cats made him laugh then, and for the moment his Master released him to pet these great beasts, whispering to them again in a foreign song-like tongue.

As the leopards rubbed their faces against his, Yesaria was suddenly filled with the impression that these things were... and when he opened his eyes he saw it was so! In the place of the twin leopards were now two changelings, things that were somewhere between human and animal. Sisters they appeared at first, their ageless faces staring at him with the same feline eyes. Their hair was still coloured as it had been, slicked back against their scalps and running down their long necks. Their ears! They were the same too, and they fluttered like butterflies in the faint breeze. It was weirdly captivating and alarming to see these halfling-creatures, and before he could inspect them further they once again began to continue licking away his tears.

His Master laughed quietly at him, but it was a merry sound in this bizarre situation. Eventually they ceased their lickings and Yesaria threw his arms around these beings. They purred again next to him, and playfully batted at the flowers still in his hair. The daeva-man brushed his fingers across Yesaria's face then, and as the nails carefully traced against his skin the young priest felt all the hairs along his neck rise up. His Master was once again looking into his eyes, and he was again caught in their amberous spell. "There shall be neither sword nor tongue raised against this one who will come. I have seen his name in the heavens as they cross this place, and have looked into the lands he has wandered here from. It is the least we can do to give him some small comfort here in the place before he is cast into the storm again."

Before Yesaria could question about this his Master continued, growing ever more solemn and almost religious in his expression and intonation. "These two are from my motherland, which lies untold leagues from here. I have spent this evening learning what and who I was in part before I too was lost in the wilderness." Running his hands down Yesaria's neck, raking that sensitive skin with his nails and watching Yesaria shudder as the feeling coursed through him, he continued. "Know that I love you, and there is nothing in the worlde that can change that." Placing another kiss on Yesaria's quivering lips, the daeva-man spoke, "Fear not, for now that we are together again there shall be nothing under heaven or above the infernal thrones that can separate us now. But sleep now, my love, for when the sun rises tomorrow it shall find us well rested in each other's arms..."

And with that, Yesaria felt the powers of Hypnos and Somnia pass over him, though as he passed into lucid dreaming, he caught a glimpse of a black-haired woman in a silver robe dancing to his tears...