A tale of a hardened traveller and his party of misfits that inadvertently come to the rescue of a outcast religious practitioner in the effort to track down Benjamin's kidnapped Menagerie.

As the Bohemian clique avoid the cities authorities the new member's arrival causes the unravelling of each of their life paths to discover that they have more in common than they had previously realised.

Extract

His hearing came to him first, although he could not make out anything more over his own ragged breath. Involuntarily gasping for air. Struggling to draw more than a whisper down his scorched throat. But he felt safe from danger, cocooned within a membrane floating in tranquil lull, within the eye of the storm. He was but a silent witness to the contortion of his own body. Strained in unnatural directions like tensed bow strings forced to play the devil's soundless concerto.

After silently cursing himself for being unable to root out the diagnosis from his sleep deprived brain he began an attempt to reign in his diaphragms hysteria.

Twelve times he focused his energy to overpower the urge, and every time another convulsion would snap it out his grip. He'd had less problems roping Obsidian Bulls he thought to himself then being the master of his own body this instance. In the next moments to his chagrin he inexplicably found himself counting the bulls jumping over a fence as if they were sheep. What was wrong with him? Had he turned mad? Now all he wanted was to end this weird experience.

He then remembered that he had been dreaming but was unable to recall anything other than it had been dreamt. He thought of sheep, jumping sheep. Jumping bulls. Jumping animals, many animals rushing through his thoughts, each disappearing from his memory as they tipped over the event horizon of the present. 'Concentrate' he commanded himself. Once again he charged his energies to retake his body. On the thirteenth attempt it worked. His exasperated breathing came to a abrupt halt. The void vacated was filled by the now distinguishable sound of rain that echoed over still intangible noise. His mind froze as he knew something was wrong. This time it had been too easy, almost as if something had let him take back his breath.

He cleared his mind, a mental exercise he had learned from a good friend. Nothing happened, and slowly evidence suggested that whatever had happened was over. More feeling returned, a gentle sprinkle of water was falling onto his soaking back, his front uncomfortably pressed against the odd stone between him and moist ground.

His eye lids blinked open, and he saw a mash of white and grey against a dark blue background. As the form danced about it separated into two, with one growing larger, towering as it came towards him. He couldn't close his eyes, and couldn't look away, and found that he had forgotten how to move. In final resignation he focused his thought and sight on the phantom which hadn't moved and tried to block out the object of his fear that was still moving towards him. Nearly exhausted by all the concentration, his vision began to improve, and the idle spectre morphed into the figure of a young women. As the shroud cleared, her features could be seen, he could now make out that she was jumping up and down, crying. Waterfalls were streaming out of her wide round eyes, in shock from whatever had happened he guessed.

As if struck by euphoria, his thoughts were stopped with an inner realisation. He felt confused and now embarrassed that it was only then he recognised his ward. 'Annie' he thought, 'At least she's OK'. He then remembered the figure he had tried to strip from his mind. Whatever it is could be a threat. Annie was not OK. He could not feel OK until he knew what was really going on. The wraith wasn't there any more, and he was scared that whatever trauma he had endured had given him the supernatural strength to repress the threat completely from his conciousness. Why had he been a coward? He felt selfish and guilty at shying away from his duties in this hour of need. Now there was no one left to protect his ward, even though he was in no fit state to anyhow. He had failed. Suddenly a shadow cast over him and a face that he could not recognise moved close into view. The wraith. His eyes began to water, his heart now as loud as thunder, ruling over the sound of the crying girl. He starred the stranger in the eye, unable to comprehend the face as a whole. The pupils, already large reacted to his intense gaze, and an outreached masculine hand of his captive which until now he had not noticed stopped it's advancement towards him. Annie was in danger, and with his remaining energy he tried to scream to her 'Run. Go. Now!', but his lips did not move and his voice was scared away.

"He's awake!" the man roared, his voice distorted and distant. The man looked up, past and over him, and now he realised there must be at least two. A mixture of helplessness, self-destructive thoughts and pragmatic resolute of saving Annie and himself rushed though this mind. Too many to process, too many contradicting and confused thoughts. In the end he just had enough confidence to push aside anxiety for a second to make a decision - he was useless in his current state. The best chances for both himself and Annie was if he rested. He tried to find Annie, but was unable to focus on her with his tear-clogged eyes. She looked almost like a spectre again but at least he knew she was still there. He closed his eyes; now he rested.