She's gone.

"Well, that's disappointing." I said, fiddling with my tattered coat. It had been turned into a charred rag by my accident, left with a single arm and only half the torso, and even my trousers had been singed by it. I looked around at the spot where I'd seen red, and had found only footprints.

The Dryad had returned to her neuter state, but had kept the long hair and her newer eyes. She lingered just behind me, peering around at the footprints, and gave a lewd smile. I stroked her head, the texture of grass lingering on my fingers, and she gave a purr.

The Dryad tilted her head and looked over my outfit. She giggled and pulled at the massive hole in my coat.

"Yeah, I know." I slapped her hand away, feeling a little embarrassed. Which, honestly, was a luxury. Being able to worry about my appearance, rather than food and the press of ****, was a gift. "Dryad. I really ought to give you a name. Or, do you have a name?"

She drew herself up, a hand to her petite chest, and babble out a few sounds. Maybe it was some monster tongue, or maybe they had never needed to speak. She gave a toothy grin and waved the matter away, pointing again at my coat. I was about to chastise her when she started to gesture. Pointing to her wooden dress, to my coat, to me, and then shrugging.

A question, obviously. Regarding clothing. "Are you saying you can make me something?"

She shook her head, gestured to herself and then, with an impish look, took my cock in hand. I grew stiff, and got her intention. "Rather, you 'want' to make me something?"

She nodded and stepped back, gesturing around her and spinning excitedly. I didn't really get what she was trying to convey, but I nodded anyway. The Dryad started away, pausing only a moment for permission, and I let her go.

I walked over to the crystal tree, considering things. There was the obvious, of course, musing on life and the twists of fate. Considering my magic, my strategy for the goblins, about the witch and Barley, and about Alva and my Dryad's name. Then, there were other things; my mother, my home, my sister and a thought I'd never allowed myself.

I had made mistakes in my rage. I had nearly, in a moment of passion and fury, killed a family. But one choice, but a few degrees of difference, and my life could have been totally different. Was it the same for her?

I couldn't help but wonder, did my sister regret her actions that day?

And, ultimately, my thoughts spiraled back to that question, the one that lay in the center of my heart.

I held my hands out, staring at them, and closed my eyes. A moment of Will, and then I opened my eyes to stare at two different hands. One human, pink skin and clear nails, and the other ashen and clawed. I looked past them, at the veins of crystal amidst the wood, and saw my reflection. One eye had gone red and slitted to match the hand, and few faint black lines lingered around it.

And behind him, cloaked and silent, was Alva the Exciser.