eyes, "Go say your good-byes to your mother. Her time is at hand." Cyrene and Ephiny entered the hut. The warrior returned to what she knew so well, back and forth. Back and forth, about six paces in each direction, back and forth. She looked around the hut. So many things they had gathered together over the seasons. Argo?s blanket hung on the wall. Over it, a badly scarred battle sword and chakram. Next to them the staff that had always served so well. Scrolls everywhere. ? Always writing, even until the very end ? thought the warrior. Grown children and four grandchildren. She never thought any of these pleasures would have been possible for her. Then came the little bard from Poteidaia who had given her every pleasure possible. They had been apart for a season now and the warrior was tired. She simply wanted to see her bard again. Wanted to hold her in her arms. Wanted to hear her breathing next to her as they slept. The emptiness was unbearable. Her heart, shattered the day the bard had died, and she had never really recovered. "Warrior?" The voice was faint, but unmistakable. "Gabrielle?" She looked around the room to find the source of the voice. Standing by the fireplace was her bard, young, strong and healthy. Leaning on her staff with a smile. The way she had been so many seasons ago in Poteidaia. The bard extended a hand, "Walk with me my warrior. The Elysian Fields