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The shadowy entity continued to lurk at the edge of Jericho’s senses, hiding in the dark recesses of the dim room.  It was a large chamber, circular, and with a ceiling somewhere far above in the darkness.  There were no entrances or exits other than the one Malvat had just made, and the only light came from the fire of Brendin and Alessio as well as the new girl’s gift.  Jericho regarded her a moment.  Her face was scarred and her eyes showed a wounded soul.  She seemed to wield a gift similar to the Shakti, but more visible.  And her gaze was focused on Nithel.

Jericho approached her gently and smiled; not a welcoming grin, but a small sad smile that showed a hint of the pain she carried.  “Hello, my dear,” Jericho said softly, gesturing the words with her hands as she had seen the girl do before.  Jericho had learned to speak with her hands as part of her training in the temple; their had been a few deaf Shanti, and silent communications were a useful tool.  “I am sorry you are here,” she went on, “because here is a rather wretched place.  But if you need anything, say a word.  I will help you.”

Brendin came to stand by Jericho and nudged her shoulder.  “Something is here,” he murmured in Kithin.  “What do you think it is?”

“It is hiding from me,” she answered in the same tongue, no longer accompanying her words with gestures.  “Whatever it is clings to the shadows.”

The flame in Brendin’s hand extinguished.  “Do you think it’s a fetch?”

Jericho shook her head.  “I sorely hope not.  It does not feel as that would.”

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