I will tell you all we have learned,

I will tell you everything:

The earth is round,

There are springs under the orchards,

The loam cuts with a blunt knife,

Beware of

Elms in thunder,

The lights in the sky are stars…

Epistle To Be Left In The Earth

Archibald Macleish

~AN~: Before you start reading, you should know: I know where this is going, and it's a long way from here. Loose ends and confusing parts will most likely be the norm, because they'll all be referring to later-on occurrences. I know where the characters will be by the end, but I don't know what's going to happen, or who's going to die. I don't know what horrible disasters are going to occur, or what wonderful experiences will be encountered, or whether or not the wet noodle incident will ever be examined more fully. But hey, that's how J. R. R. Tolkien wrote---and look where he went. I can write however I want to, right?

That said, I should also mention the rating for this story. I labeled it PG-13 because, as I told you, I don't know where this thing's going. I guarantee you right here and now that the rating will not be referring to swearing, sexual content, or any sort of thing pertaining to that type of stuff; you won't find that in my writing, thank you very much. If anything, it will be there for violence, of which there may be some in this story, I don't know. It depends on what happens.

One more thing before I shut up. To put it simply, two words: RE-VEIW! Tell me what you'd like to see. Tell me where you want me to go. Tell me who should get more screen time. Tell me who should be killed off, and preferably quickly. Tell me what I did wrong. Criticize. Flame. Do anything. Just review.

And for those that reviewed my first little story, here's a resounding YOU ROCK!! If it hadn't been for those reviews, I may not have posted this at all, thinking that no one would read it anyway. Thanks, guys! Reviews are an author's ice cream, you know---they make the pie of writing all the more enjoyable.

…okay, so that was stupid. I'm a writer, not a philosopher, you know? Of course you do. Thanks again, and enjoy. The pieces of poetry are all excerpts from the above-mentioned poem, Epistle To Be Left In The Earth, by Archibald Macleish. Have you hugged your rubber chicken today?

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

~Lights In The Sky~

…It is colder now,

there are many stars,

we are drifting

North by the Great bear,

the leaves are falling,

The water is stone in the scooped rocks,

to southward

Red sun grey air:

the crows are

Slow on their crooked wings,

the jays have left us:

Long since we passed the flares of Orion…

Day Of Nightmares:

The Crows Leave

Hm. Forest, or neon?

Forest. Neon.

Neon. Forest.

Dark. Light.

Light. Dark.

Strong. Cheery.

Cheery. Strong.

Boy. Gi--what?!

Forest. Definitely. No way was he going to be mistaken for a girl.

Satisfied, the nightmaren tugged the headband firmly onto his head, shaking it a bit just to hear the soft tinkling of bells…he loved bells. Bells, bells; everywhere, everything and anything bells. Not really big bells on clothes, but little bells. And big bells in towers. And jingling bells on shoes. Dreams, Insomnia loved bells.

He shook his head again, grinning at the soft tinkle that answered him; still grinning he headed out the door, finally happy with his choice between forest green and neon green headbands. Headbands, in his opinion, were better than floppies; they kept his hair out of his eyes but didn't get in the way themselves. He skimmed along the hall instead of walking, showing that he was in a good mood. Of course, Insomnia always was.

Yeep!

He skidded to a halt, narrowly keeping himself from slamming head-on into Mr. Mi---No, Reala! Yes, Reala. Ever since he'd heard that one little dreamer muttering about something that sounded like "poke 'em on" and Mr. Mime, he couldn't keep himself from referring to the Seeker General as such. Not to his face, of course, but it was still a habit he was trying to break. The other day he'd nearly said that instead of Reala's name when the nightmaren addressed him---shards, what if he had? He'd be nothing but little bits of floating dream energy by now. Yes, he had to stop referring to Reala as such.

He jumped as Reala's claws sank into the diamond-patterned cloth on his chest and pulled him close. "Well, answer me!"

Oh boy. What did he say? "I---I'm sorry, Lord Reala, didn't see you coming---didn't know you--"

"I said, where's Nights?"

Oh. "D-don't know, sir, think he might be in the Hall…"

Whew. Insomnia breathed out a silent sigh of relief as the Seeker General dropped him and continued on down the hall. Then stiffened as his leader called out again. "Next time, watch where you're going!"

Slowly he turned his head, making sure that the bad-tempered maren was truly gone. Yes, he was---Insomnia could just barely see his red-and-black tails disappearing into the shadows. Whew. Close one.

He climbed to his feet and brushed himself off, thinking. Where to now? He was off duty, and didn't want to spend it sitting in his room…hm. Reala was looking for Nights, so no chance of hanging out with the high-ranking jester himself.

He brightened. Luna should be almost done with training duty. He'd go and hang out nearby, make rude comments about her teaching skills, and then get chased away. Then, once she was done, they could hang out together. Sure, that's what he'd do.

Happy to have made a solid decision, he turned and headed down the hall, recent exchange with Reala already forgotten by his slightly flightly mind. Forgetting that his flying about had caused him trouble only a few minutes earlier, he took to skimming along the ground once again, grinning happily. It was a good day in Nightmare Castle.

"NIGHTS!"

Nights winced at the sound of his brother's bellow and turned to face the nightmaren currently standing in the doorway of the Great Hall, face forward, not bothering to look around for his brother but rather taking the more direct---and loud---route. "That's me, Reala, not him. You're looking at Gillwing."

Reala scowled, then shot an angry glare at Gillwing and Jackle, who were both sniggering. They stopped at once, and watched him head over to where his brother was sitting; then instantly resumed their glee, albeit a bit lower this time.

Nights grinned cheerily at his brother, acting as if he hadn't a care in the world, which was partially true. Despite the fact that the personage stomping up to him looked like a monster from one's worst nightmares, or perhaps someone you'd see at Mardi Gras. A Mardi Gras celebrator with a weird sense of humor.

Reala's scowl became even deeper at his light-headed brother's carelessness. "Wipe that mindless grin off your face and be serious for two seconds, Nights. I know that's a lot to ask, but do you think you could manage it?"

Nights appeared to seriously ponder the question; then he grinned. "Sure!"

Reala sighed, obviously wondering whether or not he should hit someone in the near vicinity over the head; deciding against such action, at least for now, he returned to his original purpose. "Where the heck have you been?"

"Oh, hither, thither, and yon," said Nights airily, waving a hand in the general direction of all about them. "Up, down, in, out, around."

"Everywhere except where you were supposed to be," snapped Reala. "It's only an hour or so to dreamfall, and you haven't even been out searching for Ideya yet!"

"I'll get some, don't worry," murmured Nights, lolling onto his back and kicking his feet in the air lazily. "Besides, it's not like you to worry abut others' problems; what's with you, Reala?"

"Oh, only that I just had a talk with Wizeman, and he's not happy with the current amount of Ideya coming in!" snapped Reala sarcastically.

The mention of their master's name had a wondrous effect on the High Seekers gathered in the Great Hall. All quiet murmuring instantly stilled; Nights, formerly the picture of carefree abandon, flipped himself up into a sitting position and stared at his brother worriedly. "What?"

"Finally you sober up," smirked Reala. "About time. Yes, dear brother, Wizeman is thinking about increasing the amount of Ideya collected per day."

"Slavedriver," commented Jackle under his breath, then sucking in said breath as Reala turned to glare at him.

"What was that you said?"

"Nothing," whimpered Jackle, mentally hitting himself. 'Shards, Jackle, do you always have to go sticking your foot in your mouth?'

"Oh, good. For a moment I thought I heard you slight our master." Reala turned back to his brother, grinning at the maren's frightened babble behind him.

"Oh no, sir, not at all, didn't say a thing, especially not against master, have no idea where you got THAT idea---"

"Shut up." Jackle did. "Anyway, Nights…" Reala's expression became serious again. "If I were you, I'd get my purple self out there and start collecting---Wizeman's gonna have a fit if he finds out you haven't gotten a single one yet today."

"You're right," sighed Nights, standing quickly. That was the odd thing about Nights; he didn't mind admitting he was wrong. Very odd for a nightmaren. "I'll go out right away. Thanks for warning me, Reala."

"You'd better watch it, Nights, or you're going to get yourself in deep trouble one of these days."

"I'll watch out." Without warning his face shifted back into his normal cheerful grin. "So, off I go to run about collecting Ideya like crazy! Joy of my soul!" He did a little happy dance to illustrate his point.

Reala stared at him unbelievingly, shaking his tasseled head. Nights was asking for it, and big time. He shouldn't be surprised if he actually got it one day.

At the other end of the Great Hall, Jackle and Gillwing were knowingly quiet, watching the dancing nightmaren and his annoyed brother half-wryly, half-amusedly. It was a normal day at Nightmare Castle.

Clawz stretched luxuriously, purring as he felt his back finally snap and slide back the way it should. He'd had that crick for the whole day now, and it was seriously beginning to get annoying. Cricks in his back always cramped his style.

He purred again and stretched one lazy paw out, batting absent-mindedly at a mouse toy nearby. His room was so quiet---not that the catmaren didn't like it that way. Normally he was furious if anyone dared to enter his domain and bother him with stupid things, usually orders from Wizeman to do some menial task or other…ugh. As if he was really meant for menial tasks. No, he was meant to be leader--and a stylish one, at that. And leaders deserved their own private space. Normally he enjoyed his.

But at the moment he felt a bit bored. He pondered going back into the Great Hall and seeing if anyone was there, but then decided against it; it was less than an hour to dreamfall, and the High Seekers' 'recreation room' was probably deserted.

The catmaren's sensitive ears pricked up as footsteps came down the hall. He waited, almost hoping that they'd stop at his door and bring in some excitement, but they didn't. He growled quietly in disappointment as they continued further down the hall.

Well, it was clear that if he wanted some excitement, he'd have to make it himself. Maybe he'd go down and watch the younger nightmaren training; there were bound to be a few late classes going yet. Yes, that was always interesting. He chuckled quietly as he rolled over; with a cat-like smoothness he slid gracefully off the perch situated half-way up his wall, landing silently on the tiled floor. His was the only room in the entire castle that had tile flooring; he'd requested it specially. Carpet snagged his claws, wood couldn't stand up to the various explosions that sometimes went off in his room, and the glassy substance that Wizeman called 'shir' coating most of the patterned floors was too noisy; every time Clawz walked across a shir-coated floor, his namesakes clacked dreadfully. Of course, he could retract them, but he liked walking with his claws out. They gave him a bit of fearsomeness, class, and style. And he liked being stylish.

He pushed open his door and went out, speculatively fondling the small, mouse-shaped bombs he always carried hidden in the fur around his neck, attached carefully to his collar. Perhaps he could help make a training session or two a bit more…exciting. He purred. It was a good day at Nightmare Castle.

"Drafty out."

"Hn."

Pause.

"Very drafty."

"Hn."

Another pause.

"Geez, it's drafty out here."

"Hn."

Pause.

Silence.

Still silence.

"…Did I mention it's drafty out here?"

"…"

"Yeah, well, it is."

"…"

Silence.

"How's guard duty?"

Chink nearly jumped out of his skin as his brother Chank came up out of the shadows. Hist merely hn-ed again and turned back to watching the outer wall. Several crows, cawing, flew overhead, and he turned to watch them with quite a bit of interest. 'That's odd. They're headed south…what is there south of here?'

Chink shrugged, drawing his coat tighter about him. "Fine, I guess. Nobody around---"

"As usual."

"Right. But it's a bit---"

"Drafty?"

"Yep. How's it?…"

"Oh, fine. They got a fire going."

"Ah. I envy you."

"Sorry. When's?

"Couple more hours."

"Oh. Well, I'll tell them to keep it---"

"Going?"

"Yes. Here, brought you…"

Now, for once, Chink didn't know the end of the sentence; he leaned forward eagerly, hoping whatever-it-was was both edible and hot. Chank looked up, momentarily surprised at the silence; then, he laughed at himself. "Dummy."

"Yeah," chuckled Chink. "How could I know what you brought?"

"Just missed having you tack onto the end…"

The brothers were, to all practical senses, alike in every way, aside from the fact that Chink, unlike his brother Chank, had painted odd little curls at the ends of his eyes to help people distinguish between the two.

Apart from the eye oddity, they were almost completely alike. They seemed to think alike, too; both had an almost eerie ability to guess what the other was going to say, down to the exact wording. It was unusual, to say the least; several nightmaren claimed they got wigged out when in the room along with both of the brothers. Hearing them carry on a conversation consisting of half-sentences and single words was---wrong, somehow. It was like they could read minds or something.

Chink and Chank were both not sure how to regard their infamy: on one hand, it was nice to be slightly feared; on the other, it tended to become a problem at the most unexpected of times. Certainly their names weren't frightening. The brothers had never been able to figure out why they were given names that were so….well, odd would be putting it nicely. All the other nightmaren had names like "Fearstriker" and "Cruelty" and "Nightwing", and what were their titles? Chink. And Chank.

Chank held out a steaming thermos of something to his black-clad brother. Both liked wearing black; it added to their mysterious look. "Here. Soup."

"What---"

"Mushroom."

Chink made a face, but inhaled the steam thankfully anyway. "Mmm…at least it's warm, eh?"

"Yeah. Sorry I couldn't get---"

"S'alright. We'll share." He turned amiably enough to Hist, who was gazing out across the open plain with cold eyes. "Right?"

"I do not want any."

"Hn." It was Chink's turn to utilize sounds as conversation; the little humph carried his meaning well enough. He looked back at Chank with a little shrug. "Some nightmaren…"

Chank nodded, understanding him perfectly. "Goodnight---see you in a few hours."

"Good night. Thanks for…"

"Sure." He left just as silently as he had come.

Chink opened the thermos eagerly and began to eat, not really feeling that sorry for the silent nightmaren beside him. Let him starve if he couldn't be more polite.

Hist leaned back against the cold pillar, not noticing the chill that worked its way through him from the stone. The dream world stretched out endlessly in front of them, shining and dark under the beautiful moon; and that chattering fool of a nightmaren was finally quiet, thank Wizeman. Sighing happily, Hist settled down and prepared to silently enjoy the rest of his watch studying the distant trees under the moonbeams. It was a good night at Nightmare Castle.

Nights hummed under his breath, playing absent-mindedly with the deck of cards he'd found in the hall. Jackle must have dropped it. Either that, or those younger maren were stealing his decks again. They knew nothing annoyed the High Seeker more than losing a deck---aside, perhaps, from having his things moved around. Jackle liked his mess where it was, thank you very much.

Shrugging, Nights continued to shuffle the deck, some small part of his mind wondering how the demi-maren managed to flick the cards about so easily without loosing a single one. Lots and lots of practice, he supposed. Perhaps Wizeman had created him with a special knack for it, too.

He looked out the window again, hoping to see the flash of red, black and white that denoted his brother's return, but was again disappointed. Reala was still out and about somewhere.

Well, he couldn't wait all night---he'd just have to wait until tomorrow to talk. Reala wouldn't be all that thrilled, he supposed, but Nights liked having a conversation with his brother; when they were alone, Reala allowed a bit more of his feelings to show. And he somehow managed to understand Nights perfectly, despite their differences. Nights found that whenever he was confused or restless, talking with Reala helped him sort out his thoughts. And he was feeling a bit unsettled today, though he didn't know why. He wanted to talk.

However Reala wasn't here, so Nights would have to wait until tomorrow to chat. Sighing, he laid the deck on his desk, making a mental note to give it back to Jackle tomorrow. The demi-maren was probably hunting for it, and although Nights liked a joke as well as any nightmaren, he wasn't cruel. He'd give it back and make Jackle happy.

He was tired. He dropped onto his bed carelessly, rolling over to stare up at his ceiling; it was patterned with purple and blue, the paint drawn into exquisite designs. It was almost mesmerizing, looking up and seeing the lace-like detail. He'd requested it done; he liked his room to be bright, but tasteful. Reala liked the gothic look, and Jackle's room resembled a child's playhouse, but Nights liked a bit of sophisticated fun. Purple and blue and green, with hints of other colors mixed in. Lots of patterns.

Musing on the interesting subject of room décor, he fell asleep.

Reala was silent as he landed, but his approach had not gone unnoticed. Out of the shadows stepped two guards; one of the two came closer, spear calmly held up and slightly out. "State your name, trespasser."

The nightmaren leader turned and looked at him, a hint of amusement touching his mouth. "Reala."

The guard's eyed widened slightly, and he dropped to one knee, his partner doing the same. "My apologies, milord," he murmured.

Reala nodded once. "Resume your post."

The guards stood easily and moved back to where they had been sitting before, although this time they remained standing. Reala smiled as he turned and headed inside.

Going up the stairs, he pondered stopping by Nights' room, but decided against it; his brother was probably already asleep. And really, he had no need to check in on him. Nights could take care of himself. No doubt he'd gathered the required Ideya and then some, and gone to bed.

Shaking his head at his own softness, Reala went into his room. It was dark inside, but he knew where everything was. He moved silently through the first room, a sitting room of sorts, into the true bedroom, and rummaged around until he found a match. Striking it, he lit the two lamps standing by his bed. The light shining through their golden shades coated the room with a dusky yellow glow. That accomplished, he got in and spent a good twenty minutes reading. He wasn't a constant reader, but he liked books. They were useful in their way. This one was on military strategy; Nights, had he seen it sitting on his brother's bedside table, probably would have laughed and said it fit.

Finishing his second chapter he found himself tiring, and decided to turn in. After setting aside his book and blowing out the lamps, it was only a few minutes until he was asleep.

Jackle rubbed his eyes wearily, the more reasonable side of his mind reminding him it was most certainly time for bed. "Just one more chapter."

"You always say that."

"I mean it, though. Just one more."

"No, it's time for bed. You've got a long day ahead of you."

"I do?"

"Probably. Wizeman upped the Ideya par, remember?"

"He was thinking about it, not he did it."

"Close enough. The thought's there, and it's not much more to go before he off and does it. He's like that."

"Don't speak so airily about the Master---he's not a pushover."

"Which is why I'm telling you to get to sleep. You don't want to get in trouble, do you?"

"Oh, fine. You win this round."

"As always." He smirked.

"Shut up."

There was a moment of silence. Jackle flipped a page.

"JACKLE."

"Okay, okay! I give up!"

"Finally."

Jackle stood and began to weave his way towards the bed, side-stepping piles of blocks and over-sized jack-in-the-boxes. "Really, you get so annoying sometimes," he complained.

"S'not my fault."

"True."

Skirting the bed, he moved to the wall. Several blocks at least his size were piled against it; he went to the last one and shoved it aside, revealing a wooden door built into the wall. He'd requested it from Wizeman himself. It had been terrifying, asking the Master for an extra room when he'd only been given one, but it had meant a lot to him. He liked his stuff where it was, and there was no telling what those younger nightmaren would do if given the chance… He wanted a hidden spot, a place to store all of his things. Wizeman had been kind enough to give it to him. The nerve-wracking experience had been worth it.

He opened the door, stepping through into a small, dimly-lit study. Shelves lined the walls, filled with precious books. He loved books. They were hard to come by, especially ones he wanted, but he'd been gradually filling up his collection over the years. A chest or two lay against the back wall, filled with special decks and antique boxes holding different things; a desk sat near the middle, the place he kept all of his drawing supplies and papers and whatnot. And his supply of candles.

He looked rather regretfully at the comfy chair sitting near the corner, but then shook his head. "No, can't stay up any longer. Long day tomorrow."

"Oh, fine. I'm going to bed."

He placed his book in it's space on the shelf, smiling wryly. That habit of arguing with himself as if he were two people would have gotten him some very strange looks, had he been with others. Once or twice while with someone else he'd actually had to stop mid-word before he answered himself.

Actually, he'd probably get more than strange looks---someone would go running for Wizeman shouting that Jackle had lost it, most likely. But he hadn't lost it. It just made sense to speak to himself; he found it easier to understand himself than anyone else. Besides, it helped him to think when he spoke out loud. Arguing both sides of the problem helped him to make a better choice.

Briefly, the image of what would happen should he start talking to himself in Great Hall came to his mind, and he chuckled. It would almost be worth it just to see the look on Clawz's face. That prissy kitty would probably look like he'd seen an elephant fly by.

"I'd give a lot to see that," he commented.

"Yeah, so would I." That was Jackle too.

"But then he'd get all condescending and stuff, you know. 'Oh, I always knew that maren was insane. Now's he's finally flipped his lid' and all that."

"Ha. What does he know? Why, remember that book by Lewis Carroll? His heroine Alice liked to pretend she was more than one person." He folded his cape carefully over the back of some blocks that served as a bedside table.

"That was a human." He laid down, pulling the blanket over himself instantly. He felt a bit open without his cape, but the blanket helped a lot. It felt sort of like his mantle.

"True. Clawz would find something bad to remark about that."

"Alright, then, no talking to myself when I'm with others. Still, nice to know that if we're ever in a situation where we're captured by savages and our lives will be spared only if we have an insane person among us, I'll be able to do the trick, hm?"

"…you always were an optimist."

"What, you'd rather me be realistic? I, for one, don't want another Reala around…"

"Oh, geez. I just got this mental picture…okay, keep your optimism. No more Realas, thank you very much."

"Nice to know we agree."

"Yup."

And he fell asleep.