It ought to be fairly common knowledge that the quickest way from one's beginning to one's goal is the straight line connecting the two. That being said, it should also be common knowledge that, in any plan, it is very important to define one's terms. Take, for instance, Malachi and Ellie's first Candle-Day's Eve in Tolemac. If the goal was to get Cindy home as soon as possible, then she did very poorly. From the feast, Cindy had been so eager to walk away that she went the precise opposite direction of the fastest route and when she first deduced this, she kept onwards out of embarrassment. Then, as the night progressed, she forgot about it entirely and simply walked on as if she had no pressing intention of stopping. As it happened, Cindy's goal- and so the goal of the journey -was not to find the House of Gibbs but to enjoy, for as long as possible, the company of the Guardian.

For his part, Malachi had no idea where the girl lived and so he simply followed her, trusting her sense of direction. In short, he assumed the whole time that they were going the right way- and, in a sense, he was right. This was the route they wound up using.

- After committing to the opposite direction, the east, the two zig-zagged along that way until they reached the very edge of town.

- From then on, they turned sharply north and stuck to the perimeter of the town until they turned west.

- When at last they reached the northwesternmost edge of town, they went on another zig-zag, this time diagonally, all the way to the southeasternmost edge.

- From there went north and a little to their left until at last they came upon the famous Trees of Tolemac.

- From there, she led him on a sort of spiral around the axis of her home until at last, they parted ways.

So, keeping in mind that the unstated goal was to milk every possible second out of the night, one could say that Cindy did rather well.

So too did their dialogue go swimmingly from the rough beginning onward. That is, with the exception of one brief regression to the earlier tension. In truth, the regress had been a long time coming since it came about as a result of the question Malachi had been wanting to ask from the very beginning.

Surely not! Surely not!

Tis true! Ask her.

But that's absurd. If the long hair makes wigs and scarves so tedious, why not just cut it.

Because I like it. Stop wasting time.

You've just admitted that it bothers you.

The wigs bother me. The scarves I don't mind really at all, but my parents maintain-

-that if you can afford to dress politely, you should?

Immaculate. It's almost as if you were there! Shut up and ask her!

Perhaps I was! Perhaps I've infiltrated your palace and have been watching you in your sleep.

Then you've seen for yourself! In the absence of hassles, I am perfectly capable of being comfortable in my own hair- thank you very much.

Even so, you would risk the Medusa for the right to keep your hair long?

The question snatched his attention and stirred his heart. And since the honest answer seemed good to him, he shared it with her fully.

I risk the Medusa for the right to like how I look in the mirror. Nearly everything I have belongs to someone else. We Overseers dress not for ourselves but for propriety and niceness. And since we have to travel all across the Realms, we have had to wear all sorts of different styles of dress. Same with foods. All our diet is arranged for health's sake and, when we're in the field, whatever's convenient has to do. Even my life is not my own. As an Overseer, all my tomorrows are forfeit the moment they can be paid for others to have dawns and dusks to come. However, my hair, as long as I keep it masked, is my own. And however they may complain about it, my parents cannot claim its cutting to be a moral necessity so they cannot force me to do any such thing. I have so few concerns that are mine and mine alone. Is it silly for me to think this one precious?

No. Not at all. (after a pause) Taking it off tonight wasn't very nice, though.

Haven't I already admitted that much to you? I was unnecessarily miserable then, that is not under contest.

Side-by-side, they came upon a set of stone stairs with shaky railings- just the same as the many others they had come across that night. And since they had come upon many such railings that night, they knew just how to behave. With a bow and a gesture towards the descent, the Guardian let out an...

After you.

Yes!

And so she slid down the railings, and landed on her feet- a little unsteady but ultimately upright. Then with the same cheek with which she had begun her sentiment, she finished it.

... Because I was right!

Indeed you were.

And, true to his word, he slid after her before winding up next to her, having landed in a far steadier fashion than she.

Congratulations.

And with the obstacle cleared, the two continued walking side-by-side.

So I take it that's why you prefer solitude. You want things one way, everyone else wants it another and you think that if you have nothing to do with each other then you can just live and let be.

More or less.

And here I thought you were simply a solitary creature by nature.

If only. I should like to have company but, if it be a choice, I prefer freedom.

And what if someone didn't mind the things you wanted? What if... there was someone you didn't have to hide from to be comfortable?

Let's see. If... if there was someone who did not demand a mask of me... then I would have to say... that... I'd never demand a mask of them. I'd have to say that nothing of their unmasked selves could possibly chase me away.

I see.

Their eyes had met mid-way through their discussion and, as a result, they had begun doing the very dangerous thing of walking without paying attention to the road ahead. Of course, all things considered, the pair looking into each other's eyes was a kind of looking at "the road ahead" but it was still good luck that they managed to snap out of it before tripping or slipping. The awkward silence which punctuated Cindy's weak reply had done them a service in that regard in that, as a result of it, each broke their gaze and made a point of looking elsewhere so as to hide their blush. In this way, they began to walk safely again- if only for a short while until...

It's now or never. That song of yours...

Sorry?

T-The one you played for the contest... what is it called and who is the composer?

I don't- urmm...

When the realisation finally struck, it struck with all the force of a thunderstorm. Though she had come to accept that he could hear her voice, she hadn't quite come to the most obvious conclusion until right then and there.

Run! Get away!

Why?

He heard the song?

No one was supposed to hear it.

Then you shouldn't have played it in public!

But he says he admires it!

Who cares? Run!

I am no admirer of music. But the sound and memory of it has enchanted me from the first hearing till now. And indeed, it enchants me even now.

What first hearing?

It was sometime ago. I was wandering round town- in disguise, of course -when I came upon a certain lyrical shop. And there I heard it. But, of course, silly me forgot the fate and place of the store. And since then I have driven myself, my stock, and my order mad trying to find the song somewhere in the Underground's records. But I had nothing to go on except my humming the melody and what little I remembered from the lyrics. And so I had no success in hearing it again... until the contest. Until you.

And as he said these things, the words of his brother, the Boyscout, clawed their way out of Cindy's tell-tale heart to say "No wonder you were so against the contest. You've already met her" and "Honestly, after all the trouble Mama went through to arrange all this..." leading her to the runner-up of obvious conclusions. And this one was even more mortifying than its predecessor.

Did- did you organise this whole contest in search of m- the song you say you love? Were you merely hoping beyond hope that the lyrical would simply appear and play that one in particular?

I most certainly did not. No, the contest is the handiwork of a mother and father tired of their son's "obsessions". As if it's elusiveness were my fault.

Yes... it is not a well known piece.

I'm begging you. I long to hear it again. Please give me a fate.

Cindy looked at him intensely, searching for any sign of sarcasm or mischief; any tell that he knew the truth and was simply mocking her. Yet, he seemed perfectly sincere. There was no doubt in her heart then that he truly did not know or even suspect that she herself had written the piece. Nevertheless, she began to move away. And when they came upon a stone wall, she lagged behind to watch him pick a side before- quite noticeably -picking the other. Then the cold wind came fiercely and Guardian found it quite difficult not to be upset at having surrendered his cloak.

Guardian...

No I- I meant the fate of the song! The song and the composer!

What good is she to you?

Ah so it is a she!

Yes and her fate is Guardian. As I have said.

Enough of this!

In a single motion, he leapt over the barrier before landing right in front of the girl. Where he stood, he was toe-to-toe and gaze-to-gaze with her and his hands were wrapped around her arms for the sake of keeping her still. Cindy, for her part, was nothing short of paralysed. The move and its quickness had stunned her, and the sight of the Overseer's piercing amethysts so close to her person did nothing afterwards to soothe her nerves. Seeing her fright, Malachi let down his grip and both his arms and stepped a pace or two backwards to let the cold air divide them again.

I'm sorry. But please do be honest with me.

She was desperate to give her reaction cautiously but she could not help the sudden yelp leaping out from her. Indeed, her whole face was in similar rebellion, becoming very hot and very red without her consent- rendering her lower mask that much more convenient for disguise.

No! (after a pause) I don't know! By the pinky, I don't know who the composer is! Does that satisfy your obsession?

She quickly pushed him aside and lightly jogged past him, deathly afraid of him noticing her flustering. As she went, he spent a good while kicking himself for acting so absurdly and when he was finished with his game of self-pity, he turned and saw that she had already gone quite a ways away. And so he chased after her but only for a short while since he soon decided that it would not have been very wise to chase. And so he changed his pace to something of a fast-walk and when he had finally caught up to about six steps behind her, he slowed to match her pace- content to be left lagging behind again.

This composer shares my fate, does she?

I've already admitted she doesn't!

I'm sorry! I'm sorry. Please.

Save your breath. I promise she is a nobody. Even a fate would do you no good.

When the realisation finally struck, it struck with all the force of a thunderstorm. By Cindy's conduct- and plain reason -the Guardian finally came upon the obvious conclusion that the girls to whom, and about whom, he had been speaking were really one and the same. In a matter of moments, he had gone from walking with a delightful stranger to following an awesome celebrity composer. And so, he felt ashamed.

Well, that nobody was the highlight of the night.

In your opinion, perhaps.

You don't agree?

The other guests didn't seem to.

Well, what do they know?

Any less than you? Or didn't you say "I am no admirer of music" but a moment ago.

They were all quite sleepy. I have the advantage of being restless.

Of course, Cindy knew of his advantages- and she especially knew the one he didn't know he had. She knew quite well that her song was meant to be played with a singer, making his review of it obviously more valid than any other. Still, she did not want to hear any more of it. She wanted to leave but she wanted to do it in a way that wouldn't force her to say farewell- since she was fairly certain that the effort would kill her. And then she saw it. Just down the road, between them and the horizon, there stood the monument to immortal works by mortal hands.

The piece was called "Trees". The fate had been carved onto a stone tablet by an artist who did not have the care to leave his own fate in addition. Behind the tablet were rows of columns, standing together as a great forest. Above each column was a glowing drinker and each drinker was of a different kind; there were wine glasses, beer mugs, plastic cups, water bottles and even goat-skins kept in the selection. And each of these glowed with bright red lights. By a matter of precision, the red of the room covered all of all of the pillars and none of the floor. And though the floor was smooth and clean, its imagery gave off the illusion of crackery and decay. It was said that the cracks of the floor were below and that the cracks were the roots of the "Trees", but that was part of the illusion.

Whatever comment the artist intended to make, with his construct, died with him. During Malachi and Ellie's time in Tolemac, the columns and the lights were nothing more than a feature of a maze; part of the fun- and the mystery and the allure of a tourist trap. Though, oddly enough, for all the Candle-Days since their erection, the standing lights were never dimmed. Even without maintenance or sustenance of any kind, their glow remained. And even unto Malachi and Ellie's day, no one was quite sure how to get rid of the lights short of destroying the whole place- which was, very much, out of the question.

Cindy had never been inside it herself, but she had heard a great deal about the place. And so when she saw it, she knew at once that it was a maze. And so she sprinted away towards its entrance.

Wait! Where are you going!

: Where do you think? I'm going on an adventure!

He yelled out to her once more as she blasted away but that time she gave no reply and so he chased after her toward and into the artistic forest. At first, the Guardian gave little consideration to where he was or where he was going. But when he crossed the border into that pocketed existence, he noticed something which snatched his attention. To be sure, he had seen plenty of flying mountains and luminous oceans and walking giants of diamonds and gold; and even if he hadn't, he was hardly the sort of person to be impressed by red lights, however precisely put. Indeed, it was not the sight which unsettled him but the feel.

Though the piece stood openly in the outside world, the evening wind shied away from entering. And so definite was the shying that when the Guardian stretched out his right hand beyond the border line, he could feel the winter wind and the cold all the way up to the part of his forearm hanging over the borderline. And even as he moved his arm further out and further back, the line between the still and the breeze remained unmoved.

Curious...

The Guardian wondered, then, if the artist had even been Arduskan. He wondered if they had not, instead, been from another Realm, bringing along foreign magic for the education of Whos.

All the while, Cindy herself became lost in the maze, circling round her thoughts as she wondered at her own reasons for running. Drowning in the deafening drumming of her own tell-tale heart, Cindy heard from two voices- each ruling from a single ear.

The first whispered in her right ear- behind her green eye -saying...

Will you abandon him? Will you leave him among the Trees? Keep running for good fun but stay in the maze! If the night must come to a bitter end, face it and bid him goodbye with the decency he has earned!

The second whispered in her left ear- behind her red eye -saying...

Run! Flee! Make your escape as soon as you can! While he is too far to protest, leave the trees and the boy behind! If the night must come to a bitter end, better to be home and sleep the end away altogether!

Then the discussion came to a screeching halt.

Hark!

Having committed the crime of running without proper concern for the road ahead, Cindy quickly found herself crashing into a column and thereafter tripping and falling o'er her own feet. And her yelp leapt from column to column until it reached, and grabbed hold of, the Guardian's instincts, snapping him out of his trance.

Smith! Where are you?

No cheating!

This isn't funny! What if we get caught?