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Once they reached the second level, Avis began peering around, trying doors to see if they were locked and listening to see if they were occupied. Finally, she quietly opened a door near the next flight of stairs.

It was a lavishly decorated drawing room, filled with comfortable-looking chairs, couches, and cushions. The window was open, allowing the warm, dry desert breeze to waft in, rustling the white linen drapery and the potted palms.

Avis didn't seem to take notice of the room itself; instead, she scampered to the window and crouched on the sill, looking down. "This'll do," she announced.

She slipped over the side of the window. Since the entire palace was built into a towering rock formation, there were plenty of hand and footholds. "C'mon," she urged. "We gotta act fast."

Avis didn't want to admit it, but sometimes not having wings was really a drag. For one thing, Ramans with wings never had to worry about falling.

Avis jumped, but managed to calm herself before she could lose her concentration, or her grip. How had Heratio spoken so loudly to her? It was like he was right next to her talking into her ear, but he was several feet above her. There was something peculiar about him, but she brushed it off. There would be time for that later.

She looked down. Just a few feet below them was the B1 dungeon level, where they kept the more affluent prisoners. The cell windows there were large (although still barred), and as she climbed lower, she noticed that the outside windowsills were sufficiently deep enough for someone to stand on. "Let's go down there," she replied, motioning with her head to the nearest window.

Avis leaned against the windowsill, looking out at the clear blue sky with her dark eyes. I...see, she thought back hesitantly. What're elemental skills?

"Hey, what are you two doing down there?"

Avis looked up to see a patrol guard soaring above them. She cringed against the rock wall, but knew it was already too late.

"You're not dungeon escapees, are you?" the guard called as he winged his way toward them.

Avis glanced at Heratio and moved in front of him. "Ah...yeah, it's true," she agreed, nodding her head and gesturing enthusiastically.

The guard wrinkled his nose. "All right...but don't try anything funny. My squadron patrols the entire airspace around the dungeons and we'll be onto you like flies to honey." He paused for a moment. "I...didn't mean to make that rhyme," he said before flying off to finish his rounds.

"...Good thinking," Avis said to Heratio. "Now come on...let's get to the Floor." She deftly swung herself over the ledge and began her descent anew.

The sun was rapidly sinking to its westward bed, and it threw its harsh light directly on the sun-baked stone. Avis's hands and feet burned, but she knew that letting go would be far worse. She looked up to see how Heratio was faring. Just a few more feet and they would be into the shadow cast by the neighboring cliff face; then it was just a hop, skip, and a jump (well, figuratively) to the Floor.

Suddenly, she lurched. Whether it had been a trick of the light or her overconfidence, she had reached for a foothold that turned out not to exist. It threw off her balance and she suddenly found herself dangling by one hand over the sprawling abyss that was the canyon floor. She gritted her teeth and felt for holds with her feet, but couldn't grab anything. Finally, in desperation, she took a deep breath and did something that she had never done before.

Heratio, help!!

It is amazing what desperation will bring out in a person.

Avis clutched Heratio tightly, trembling. She didn't understand what had just happened either; all she could remember from the blur that was the past few seconds was slipping, falling, bright blue light, then sitting on the ground of the Floor and watching as Heratio slipped into unconsciousness.

She looked around. Well, at least she was back in her element. The Floor was what the Ramans called the bottom of the canyon, the portion that was always in shadow, even at noon. It was the home of the Wingless Ones.

They were sitting on a small island of mud, around which flowed a choked rivulet of dirty water. Mounds of refuse of every kind rose above them like a ghastly artificial forest of garbage. A whistling sound from above and a sickening plop behind them signified that another piece of trash had landed in the muck, thrown from above by some Raman housewife. The Ramans lived on the cliff faces--there wasn't any practical way to store their byproducts, so they just threw them down. It wasn't a complete ecological disaster--the Wingless Ones kept alive on the scraps of food they found, and some of the more innovative ones were even able to make useful devices out of what they could scavenge.

Some distance away, among the monuments of debris, a small pack of Wingless Ones moved, scouting out each pile of rubbish as they passed. Occasionally, one of them one would pick out something he or she thought might be useful, examining it as the group moved on. One female was herding two children, putting one arm protectively around the smaller of the duo. They were not her own children--Ramans had impeccably high moral standards and would never bear children out of marriage, not even when they were stuck on a canyon floor with no authority to marry them. The children had been exiled to the floor by their own parents when they were old enough to fend for themselves, and had been lucky enough to be picked up by this particular pack.

Avis watched as they moved on, and were swallowed up by the haze that eternally permeated the air of the Floor. She had not been so fortunate. She had grown up alone, and had to learn to survive her own way. She looked down at the Human in her arms, and her throat tightened. She didn't want to be alone any more. The young Raman felt a sudden rend in her heart, and she gave out an animal howl of sheer pain, loneliness, self-pity, and pity for the Human she had just helped rescue. Then, for the first time in many years, the tears flowed and she let them. She bent over Heratio's back, weeping. She felt very small, and cold, and worst of all, alone.

"Don't die, Heratio," she managed to croak between sobs. "Don't die. I need you." The words felt very strange coming out of her throat, but at the same time they were freeing, somehow.

Avis stopped mid-sob. She had heard a voice. It was faint and weak, but it was a voice. She pulled herself back from Heratio's body and saw that his eyes were opened. "HERATIO!" she screamed, pressing herself to him once again with a vicelike grip as if he was in danger of physically slipping away. The tears came unbidden once more, but this time they were tears of joy.

Meanwhile, the sun had been edging her way toward the western horizon. The stone above them was a brilliant orange now, and some of the color had managed to sift down to the otherwise drab Floor. A cool evening breeze had begun to pick up, as well. Avis shivered. Pafre Desert was scorched by the sun by day, but its nights could be as chilly as winter in Corax. Worse, it was a dry cold, the kind that seemed to bite through to your very bones--even more so if you were a hollow-boned Raman.

Avis blushed, another thing that was new to her. She stopped and put a hand to her cheek--what was this strange burning sensation, and this foreign and wonderful wrenching in her soul? "I...I think I love you too, Heratio." Her mouth was hesitant to express the feelings she harbored in her heart; were Ramans allowed to love Humans? At that point, she just didn't care, she was so happy to not be alone any more. She slumped over, drifting into a deep and dreamless sleep. The events of this most peculiar day had been far too overwhelming.

The sun finally dipped below the horizon, and the temperature dropped further. Far above them, myriad faint lights were visible through the haze; they were the lights of the city of Seti.