Three months.

For three long months Shinsou had been lost, spirited away in the wastes of Salvar as their glorious 'gift from Akashima' had been beaten by the wild howls of a wicked storm. Somewhere in that chilling tempest Philomel had been separated from Lillith the geisha, her dear own friend Sakura and Shinsou himself, only left with her dearest fox-form companion. It had been Veridian's heat that had kept them alive - that and the might of Delath who had carried them eventually to the treacherous realm of the Seventh Sanctum. There, they had faced Lichensith Ulroke, a man who they had ...

That was another story, however. Another tale that Philomel did still not like to think about, especially on these cold nights wrapped up by her daughter Celandine, in front of the smokey fire. Oh, life had changed for her indeed. There had been friends made and lives lost. Her own small rabbit beast, who had existed with their company for just under six months had died while fighting a dire and desperate enemy. Delath had learnt to talk of all things - or rather revealed that he had been studying all this while, and was quite the genious when it came down to it. Philomel had been embroiled in a battle in a castle at the Tular Plains, made friends with a mysterious crow-girl and taught said crow-girls allies to fight. She had summoned new powers, and lost others, discovered an intent from her goddess to head towards a new future, and she had grown to love her daughter. Her dear, darling daughter. The princess, who learnt twice as fast as the next and had a strange, prophetic ability.

Three months he had been gone, and Philomel had learnt to live without the man who had once been her dearest friend, ally and almost lover. Once before, after all, she had considered him to be dead and the same emotions were simply replayed.

That was until now, when not ten minutes ago, Gosling - her aide and Celandine's governess - had ran in, her face white. Without a word the human had extended a shaking hand over to Philomel and whispered those haunting words.

"Matriarch ... Matriarch he is back."

And a decoded had been shown. "Success uncertain. New research revealed. Van Osiris is no longer in Salvar."

*-*

Two days later.

"Faster," she urged, "Faster, my dear, faster."

"Going, uh, fast as can," deeply growled the monster beneath her, his voice rippling through the air like thunder. His feet pounded the earth powerfully with each leap, energy pushed down into the ground to carry him on, up in another five metre jump that would carry him and his burden forwards. Sometimes his heavy tail thumped down and sent even more power to lanuch them even further in the air, so sometimes a good seven metres were vaulted over beneath another huge paw landed once more.

Philomel grimaced and hunkered lower over the back of her dragon. Thirty feet of turtle-scaled Delath, mottled brown and mossy green, extended and contracted beneath her. His back now bore a leather saddle, onto which the faun was literally lashed, Veridian curled up tight onto her lap.

I. Hate. This. Speed. He kept repeating.

"I know, darling," the faun sighed, "But we have to find him. We have to. If there is even a chance he is alive, I will not wait this time. I will not let it be like the last.

"We have to."

And onwards through Concordia Forest the dragon, earth-spirit and faun went, running in direction of a man who might not be there, all because of a single note.