I guess there's no need to provide an intro for this... Enjoy.

In the six months Henri Ducard had lived in the little healing hut, he had never once heard from another human, aside from Chael. He had listened long and hard for the sounds of children, of women or training warriors, but had heard not even the slightest whisper. If only he could have seen properly.

The night before, Chael had announced over their dinner that they would be leaving the healing dwelling the next day, to go the dwellings of The Council. Today he prepared, dawning a traveler's cloak, and retrieving a walking staff. The air had adopted a chill, lately, and he had required Ducard to take the same measures in autumn dress. The warrior was clothed in a dark tunic and trousers, as well as the thick traveling cloak that the healer had produced for him. He was also required to carry a staff, so that he did not have any unnecessary collisions with innocent trees or bolders.

Chael packed little more that an extra set of clothes for the both of them, and a bit of food and water, which surprised Ducard. The dwellings must be close by.

They began in the early morning, just before the sun had arisen, heading off in an easterly direction. Ducard's pace was slow as he became used to the footing, his hand thrust out before him distrustfully. Chael, at times, reached out to correct the warrior's path, or perhaps lead him safely through a rocky area.

o.o.o

They had traveled only an hour before Chael stopped, motioning for Ducard to follow suit as he sat, positioned as one might to meditate, on the soft ground, his head bowed. Ducard sat, but with mounting curiosity. There was a strange smell to the place, familiar but unnatural at the same time. A stark, acrid smell that reminded him painfully of Gotham city…

In the morning hours, most shadows had yet to yield to the sun's soft shades of light… But that did not seem to atone to the large, dark blob of land that stretched out before him. It was long and narrow, and too dark to be anything but a shadow, but he just couldn't guess what was responsible for blocking that much light.

Puzzled, and somewhat frustrated, he bowed his head as Chael had, disappearing into a light state of meditation.

The earth around them suddenly became deathly silent, void of even the twitter of lovestruck songbirds. Ducard was tempted to investigate, but by nature forced himself deeper into the meditation, shoving his curiosity aside. Chael said nothing, remaining in his solemn pose nonetheless. Ducard focused on delving deeper into the quiet place in his mind.

And then came the thunder.

It was more of an ungodly roar, actually, that startled Ducard deeply, he opened his eyes, and stared into the heavens, trying to discern one shape from the other. Chael was at his side, standing, fumbling to fasten his hood properly so that the wind, which had begun to churn, would not whisk it away.

Ducard stood also, steadying himself which his staff. "What is this monstrosity!" He called over the roaring, wincing against the wind.

"Our transportation."

What?

No sooner had the thought emerged in Ducard's head, the thing arrived; A large, silver streak from the sky, that descended swiftly to land on the stretch of shadow that Ducard had been bitterly puzzling over. It glided down the strip easily, sending a final gust of wind their way as it came to a stop close by, not far from the end of the shadow strip. Only then did Ducard understand.

The shadows were shadows at all, but a landing strip… A landing strip of dark asphalt, from which the strange smell had emitted from. And if that was the landing strip, then the sliver blur was, of a course, a -"

"Come, we must board the jet quickly before we are detected." Chael took his by the elbow, leading him past the whirling blades that made up the private air vessel's propellers, and up the descended stairs, and then into the cabin.

Six months of living as his ancestors had, with no more than what those in the biblical times had to cope with, Ducard had nearly forgotten his life before hand. Yes, he had lived in the ninja school, for it had been his home, but he had had access to a great deal of technology all the same. Now in this harsh, sterile new milieu, he found he was a bit taken aback, sinking into a chair when it was offered by Chael.

There were no others in the cabin, alas, they were still alone… But a small box crackled on the wall, and the piolet's voice rang through the tiny space scratchily. "Better get situated quick, Chael, we have to make this short. I think some one may have seen me set down."

Chael responded quickly, as did Ducard, who's memory of machines and modern day marvels was rushing back with a stunning clarity. They fastend their seat belts as the jet began to make the turn so that he could take off again.

"How are you, Chael?" The piolet's voice rang through the cabin again.

"I'll be fine if you keep your concentration on the controls, Michael," Chael answered dryly, fumbling to tighten the belt.

"You sound as if you don't trust me, Chael!" The man on the other end of the intercom chuckled as he chided the healer, whom Ducard expected was an old friend. Chael grinned, "Now why on earth would you expect that?"

o.o.o

The plane ride was uneventful, peaceful even. Ducard returned straight back to meditation, determined to remain as level minded as he had been before the incident in Gotham City. Chael ventured, from time to time, up to speak with the pilot, but was otherwise silent himself.

They flew over the ocean, heading west, bound for God knew what continent. Ducard had never managed to coax the location of the healing dwelling from his healer's lips. It was a long flight, to be sure.

They were offered food at what he imagined was perhaps half the duration of the flight, but neither of them accepted little more than water and a bit of dried fruit.

o.o.o

The flight lasted all of six hours, perhaps more, and carried them into a terra more friendly to the blood in Ducard's veins.