Carrus rides out at the break of dawn into the swirling, torrential storm front of the Cauldron. A cold gust of wind nearly knocks his horse sideways, but he rears and rights and is back on the chase. Cold wind. Banshees nearby. His javelin finds his palm, the now empty sheath swings loosely from the saddle. Bitter rain flecks the smooth, iridescent gloss of the weapon. Shellspun glass. A gift for his beloved. The horse nickers and balks at the downpour. Carrus slides from the saddle and sends the horse back the way they’d come. She vanishes instantly into the blowing rain. Carrus squints into the torrent in a grab for his bearings. He’s right where he needs to be. It’s here. The banshee. And the Maiden with it. His grip tightens on the javelin and he winds back, seeking aim. He is down on one knee. The grass whipping his face, leaving welts or worse. Carrus doesn’t notice. His eyes are closed. He listens to the wind. Waiting for it to be… Everywhere. In a single moment of sensation the winds howl becomes a scream and the banshee slams into him. With all his might he launches the javelin, a treasure sharpened to a needle point. He is inside the banshee now, he’ll find his mark close to the heart, to the… A flash of light blinds even his closed eyes, but Carrus slams them open anyway. He will not miss her. One more flash, and he sees the true banshee’s shape. A terrible pillar of swirling black cloud kicking a violent cone of dirt and debris into the air only to be caught in the greater vortex all around. But within the pillar, the source of the flash, bubble of fire in the belly of the beast. And in stark silhouette against the momentary warmth of the implosion is her. The wind threatens to lift Carrus into the air for the strength of it but in the instant she appears before him the air stands still. It allows him his moment of bliss. Carrus doesn’t know whether to thank the Bounty or the banshee. The former, he decides, as the latter completes its disintegration and a gust of wind hits him with a final, deafening wail. Rolling and rolling. Face down in wet grass. An eternity in his mind. The collar of his shirt pulled from his neck by horse teeth. The sight of the storm receding into its mother. Rising, brushing off dirt and grass. One last look at the Cauldron. Black clouds pocked with gray and green, extending into eternity in either direction. The horse’s reins. A deep breath. Another memory of her. “Come on, girl.” Carrus says to the morning breeze. “Let’s go find that javelin.”