Kia Lumbule was a thief, a dancer, and a murderess. The two former established her class, the latter she would rather not remember. The girls hair was the color of sand, tied back into a rather haphazard bun. The tips of each strawberry blonde strand was dyed a rusty red with blood.

No doubt she was not the most savory of people, and most would rather not cross paths with her. But fate, not choice, had led her down her most unpleasant road; filled with hunger despair and desperate acts.

She had been wandering from Mirkwood a long while now, first following the old forest road and then walking the pathless plains that led to the land of horses. All land was looking the same, as if by some spell she had walked all the way around the world in one prarie filled line.

The grass always looked greener over the next horizon, but when she had climbed the last one it stayed green. Green, and dotted with tiny white flowers. As her mind traced their pale shape, a name came to her lips. Bending down to pick one, she muttered "Simbelmyne' under her breath, suddenly aware that she had not spoken for many days.

"Evermind" translated her mind, and with that word came a feeling of dread. The Evermind only grew in one place, the Burial mounds of Edoras. Pushing her momentary fear away, dismissing it as childish, she forced herself to look at it as a sign she had finally reached her destination.

She dropped the flower and walked on. In the distance she thought she could see a glint of gold shining on a hill-top. But maybe it was only a mirage.

The thief walked on, past the burial mounds both royal and common, until she could see, in the distance, the largest mound of all. The city of Edoras, the Golden Hall. There were many tracks in the soil, and while her skill at deciphering them was not near that of a ranger, Kia could see many things in the prints that were hidden to others.

There were many, and she had stopped paying attention to them. But her mind was troubled, for an hour or so earlier she had seen a strange sight. Thinking she had found human footprints, she leaned down to examine them. But they were almost unhuman, the way the person, or creature, walked.

The feet were bare, and Kia was pretty sure they were human toes. But why was there usually only just the toe showing? The creature seemed accustomed to walking on her toes, and had tried to continue doing it with little success. Also there were hand marks, of hands wrapped into fists pounding the rocky soil with no gloves to protect them.

The girl had grown up in a forest, she knew the animal tracks as well, or better, than she knew those of a human. Strange, she thought. The creature walks just like a rabbit.

Kia saw the golden city closer now, and shining bright in the noonday sun. Another hour and she would reach it. She was gratefull to have come this far without any problems.

Her hand automatically went to her pocket and clasped a tigers-eye carving. It was long and slender, and had small little legs and a strange head. It was a ferret, or an ermine, or any of its countless other names. It was a fairly common totem, and each owner selected a name that fit their class better.

A royal or high ranking lady might say it was an Ermine or a Mink,

Children often associated themselves with the playfull ferret or otter.

Kia was a thief, and she called it, without shame, a weasel.

Now she thanked it, for the protection and guidance it gave her. She didnt think of it, however, as some almighty spirit granting its aid to an ungratefull mortal. Kia and her weasels spirit were as one, they were partners.

Many people gave their totems a name which they told no one, except sometimes to youre spoue, and on rare occasions to a very close sibling. So often were the names kept secret that many people thought themselves the only one to do such a thing.

Kia was not different, and it was only that she was absolutely sure she was completelely alone that she let herself mutter her thanks aloud.

"Thank you, Narziphra." She said softly as she continued on her way.

Desdemona was siting out side of the city, in a ripped black dress and clutching her left hand which was wrapped up in a makeshift bandage. A knife was on the ground next to her. "Stupid," she muttered to herself, "Just stupid."

Why had she cut herself? Wasn't she already over her grief, the grief that consumed her when she found out her father and brother had been killed? That her mother had disapeared? It had been two years since that had happened after all.

Desdemona began to cry silently, tears flowing from her violet eyes. "Stop that," she said to herself, "You shame your father. You've already ruined up your clothes, and now you go and cry? What a fool."