A fine fresh dusting of snow blanketed the tree-lined lane that stretched from the main road to the front of the house.  A fresh powder also covered the stretches of garden and pasture around the house.  The snow-heavy clouds were just starting to break up in the dark of the early morning with small patches of star-studded sky visible through the clouds.  Both the house and barn lay in complete darkness; there was not a single light shining in any of the windows - not that there was anything unusual about that at four in the morning. 

By all outward appearances, everything was peaceful in the Schlagenweit residence on Christmas morning.  In the darkness, it was hard to notice that the kitchen door stood ajar - the only exterior sign that anything was amiss. 

Inside the house, time had screeched to a surreal halt.  Nothing moved.  There were no sounds.  There was nothing around the young man but thick silence and darkness, with the sole exception of the warm weight of the dog leaning against his left side.  All the lights in the room were still off; Sasha hadn't dared move to turn them on.  Where he was, slouched against the wall under his window in the darkness with Baldur, was safe - he couldn't see or hear anything. 

Where he was was safe but he was also trapped.  His window was three flights up.  The only way out was through the house and that, simply, wasn't an option.  He knew, exactly, what lay beyond that door.  The lifeless body of the unnamed wizard was, undoubtedly, crumpled against the door.  The spell ... the curse that had sprung from the wand Sasha had since tossed in the corner had left the man crumpled, broken and ...torn... in the doorway to Sasha's bedroom.  In frantic desperation to separate himself from seeing that, Sasha had shoved his whole weight against the door, pushing it against the weight of the body until it had clicked closed.  Four other bodies lay strewn about the house: Anna, his mother and stepfather and the housekeeper in the kitchen. 

As if the light would, somehow, make what was on the other side of the door visible, Sasha had shut off his room light before dropping to the floor.  Both hands shook as they clutched at the grey and brown fur of the shepherd.  Somewhere, off in the distance, Sasha could hear the faint sound of sirens but they barely registered in his conscious thoughts. 

Two cracks resounded through the dark silence of the Schlagenweit household. Dreogan Eleor stood tense and at the ready, reaching a slow, silent hand into his pocket to retrieve the black taper to set up a ward. He could feel the magic, heavy in the air. He could feel the death; it was the same feeling as Seeing: a sort of unseen heaviness that means change. Loss. Future.

He watched as Adon with great stealth moved through the shadows, approaching the stairway where two bodies were strewn. He didn't pause to check for signs of life; he continued grape-vining his way along, looking almost feline in his motions, his wand at the ready. Dreogan followed with the same silence, squinting slightly as the brightness of the candle penetrated the dark.

When Sasha had called -- in the midst of their Hanukkah festivities for the evening -- there had been sounds; too much sound. There was the door being pounded; yelling from the attacker; Sasha's stuttering. There'd been static, presumably caused by magical interference. Now, however, it was dead and still. But the attacker might still be here. Dreogan feared -- he feared that he might not be. He feared this silence. Adon seemed to, too. His face was grim as he glanced back, once he'd reached the top of the stair. He held a finger up to his lips, calling for silence.

Dreogan quickened his pace even as he felt his pulse quicken. Calling for silence -- that meant there was someone to be quiet for. That meant there was something to be heard. Dreogan re-situated his wand in the palm of his hand as he, too, reached the top stair. They both paused, looking at the crumpled form of a man who seemed frayed. Dreogan's gaze moved from the bleeding body to the door against which he was pressed. Adon, standing to the side of the body precariously, was preparing to kick it down, his leg coiled back.

There was, indeed, the sound of something on the other side. Dreogan reached out with his wand hand, grabbing Adon's arm and pulling forcibly away from the door. Adon looked surprised and indignant a moment, then quizzical. They heard the sound of sirens in the distance and Adon let loose a low, whispered curse.

"Sasha?" Dreogan called. Adon held his wand up, at the ready at the sound; Dreogan grimaced. He knew that Adon had wanted the element of surprise, but if Sasha was on the other side of that door, kicking it down would only alarm him. And it was quite possible he'd underestimated Sasha's dueling capabilities.

"It's Dreogan and Adon Eleor. Are you alright?"

An hour could have passed, or only a minute for all Sasha was aware of the passage of time.  The only indicator of progression of time in the dense darkness was the rhythmic rise and fall of the dog's chest and the rapid flutter of his heartbeat under Sasha's hands.  In the stretching expanse of nothing, the boy's eyes darted frantically around the darkness, his mind in desperate, fruitless search of a safe, or at least neutral, thought.  Whenever his mind was allowed to brush over what had just happened and what lay beyond that closed door, an overwhelming panic gripped mercilessly at his chest.  Letting his mind settle on what lay beyond that door felt like a physical impossibility.  Instead, he began counting the dog's slow breaths. 

If there had been any movement behind the bedroom door, Sasha had been unaware of it.  But, the pair of wizards in the hall didn't escape Baldur's notice.  The dog's chest grew still and he tilted his nose towards the door.  His nostrils twitched and a low, deep growl grumbled in his chest.  A voice called through the door and the dog responded immediately, pushing himself to all four feet and barking threateningly at the door. 

The sudden lurch of activity dragged Sasha from his confused stupor and he started scanning the room for the wand he'd cast aside.  But, amidst the barking, Sasha heard the voice again and, this time, recognized it. The panic quickly faded and Sasha slumped back against the wall, his hand grasping the dog's collar, holding him back. 

He opened his mouth to speak - to say something to Dreogan or to tell the dog to stand down and be quiet - but, a hoarse "I-" was all he managed before his voice began failing him.  Even if his voice did work, he couldn't think what to say without ... thinking about everything.  And his mind was still refusing to let him go back there.  Time was beginning to loose it's definitive quality again despite the dog's continued alert barking.  That too, somehow, seemed to be slipping back into the vague blankness. 

Dreogan caught Adon's sharp glance at the cut-off noise from the room. He shook his head in a jerky, decisive motion as he again prepared to kick the door in. Dreogan didn't have compelling reasons to prevent him any longer--particularly as he considered that Sasha might not be out of danger--but at the presence of mind to call out "We're coming in, Sasha!" just as Adon's door cracked against the wood, causing the door to give and swing open violently.

The dog resumed its barking and howling until red sparks emerged from Adon's wand. Dreogan stepped over the corpse at the doorway just as the large hound collapsed to the ground. He, like Adon, held his wand at the ready, taking in the surroundings, but focussing on Sasha as soon as his eyes adjusted to the increased dark of the room.

"Sasha!" he gasped in relief, amazed to find him still alive. "God--Thank God," he breathed, moving over to him and kneeling down in order to try to catch the boy's eyes. He rested his hands upon Sasha's shoulders, applying a reassuring pressure, though the grip on the wand pressed the wood into Sasha's clothing.

"Clear," Adon's decisive voice cut in. He heard the footsteps return towards the doorway and Dreogan knew that Adon was already going about identifying the body and checking for traces of residual magic.

"Are you hurt?" Dreogan asked. To ask if he was alright would be a grave misstep; nothing was right just now.

"Manfred Ashford," Adon called from the doorway.

Dreogan sighed and disregarded this information. They'd worry about investigation later. Though--though the Met would be arriving shortly. That would take explaining, but he'd leave that to Adon. The primary goal for Dreogan right now was recuperating Sasha; getting him safe and away from here. The boy was slow to respond, and Dreogan repeated in a louder, clearer voice, "Sasha, you're safe now."

"Did you do this?" Adon's voice said with a peculiar tone that made Dreogan look over at him. The expression Adon held was not one he'd seen often. He looked disturbed as he regarded the boy. Dreogan considered the corpse at a distance, hands still on Sasha's shoulders. He gave Adon a reproachful glance before returning to Sasha. "Are you hurt?"

Sasha heard Dreogan's warning only moments before the door burst open but it was just enough.  He didn't want to - he couldn't look at the torn body that he knew lay on just the other side of the door.  Inside the darkness and quiet of the bedroom, the heavy emptiness could protect him from the reality outside that door.  But, like the first barbed hook on a fishing line, the reality of that corpse would only lead to the reality of the other corpses beyond it.  The boy's eyes slammed shut just as the door flew open and the candle's light flickered over the intruder. 

With his eyes closed, Sasha couldn't see the wand raised against the dog who's renewed barking had him straining against the collar Sasha was holding.  He didn't see the flash of red, either.  He just heard the dog sudden silence as the collar dropped heavily to the floor under the dog's weight.  His eyes flew open and he stared at the dog in alarm.

The sound of his name drew Sasha's attention up to Dreogan.  Habit as well as lingering tension caused the boy to flinch, slightly, as the man reached for him but, after the initial reaction, his mind focused on reassurance of the pressure on his shoulders.  Sasha's eyes traveled then to the man that had returned to the doorway behind him and, then, the body the man was approaching.  Immediately, he closed his eyes again and he turned his head away from the scene, shaking it slightly. 

"I - I ... I don't -"  He forced his eyes open again and looked down at his hands, searching them as if he'd find the answer to if he was injured lay between his fingers.  "Is he..."  His eyes had refocused on the immobile dog lying next to him.  Dreogan's voice cut through once more, louder this time and Sasha looked up at him.  The sirens were getting louder and Sasha could hear their position change as they turned onto the main road. 

"Did you do this?"

Sasha stared up at Adon for several moments as his mind filtered through what he knew of the man.  He'd never met him in person but he'd heard bits of information a little through Dreogan but mostly through Jacoba.  Only one detail seemed relevant, though.  He was an Auror.  Did he think ... Sasha shook his head, desperately, and pressed his hands against the wall behind him, trying to get the leverage to push himself to his feet.  "I - I didn't ... mean - I was just trying to get him to stop.  I - wasn't ... he broke through the door!  I just ... I used the first thing that came to mind!  He said it would stop anyone." 

Adon watched with a bit of impatience as Dreogan painstakingly reassured Sasha in his smooth, calm voice that the dog was simply stunned. He shifted his shoulders, as though trying to deflect the unspoken, indirect accusation that might have settled upon him for using such force. Yes, Adon was the brute squad and Dreogan was the clean-up crew. That was how it worked. Didn't he know that by now?

It was a little unnerving, how similar the boy's speech patterns and lilt was to Jacoba's. The same stuttering, the same accent. He felt his Auror-face waver slightly, but remained firm.

"It's not an accusation. It's a question," he stated evenly. They would get more information later. For now, it was enough. The intruder threatened violence, used force, and Sasha defended himself. Who "he" might be that said that shredding a person alive would be a good idea -- that would be for later.

For now, Adon realised as he moved towards the door, he would need to speak to the Muggle authorities. Moloch, he wished he'd brought a blazer. This could be bad. No badge, no baton, no coat. . . Adon looked like a man who had stumbled into a scene of the crime.

Which he had. But that had been his intent at one point. Well, saving Schlagenweit had been the intent. And that had succeeded.

"Dree," he called, "Get Sasha home. Or to Mungo's." They still hadn't confirmed that he was well enough. "I'll stay behind."

Adon was relieved and pleased when Dreogan seemed uncomfortable with this. Adon didn't feel much better about being left alone than Dreogan did.

"I'll be fine. Really," he reassured. He watched, then, in disappointment, as the anxiety on his brother's face dissipated and he nodded resolutely. Dreogan wasn't supposed to feel so good about that quite so soon.

"Alright." He looked to Sasha. "Sasha, do you think you can side-along Apparate?" He was not certain if the boy had ever done so before. But it was imperative to get Sasha off the premises before the authorities arrived, to spare him from an unnecessary round of questioning, and to get him safe and get him, well, home.

Assured the dog was not dead, Sasha's grip on Baldur's collar loosened and his arm grew limp, coming to rest on the dog's chest.  Again, he could feel the steady rise and fall of the dog's chest as he breathed: steady and calm - unconscious but, most certainly, alive. 

Again, Sasha braced his hands against the face of the wall and, leveraging against it, crab crawled until he was standing on his feet.  Once standing, much more of the length of the intruder's body (Manfred, as Adon had identified him) came into view.  The slashes in the man's flesh themselves were concealed under the man's clothing but broad red ribbons seeping through the fabric hinted at their quantity and size.  He stared, blankly, at the body, only hearing, but not registering, the sirens as they came to a stop in the yard at the front of the house. 

His eyes slid away from the body, trailing across the floor before settling on the wand he'd thrown in corner in the moment's after the man's death.  He tried to take a careful step towards it but, without the support of the wall behind him, his knees quaked, threatening to give out.  His hand sought Dreogan's the physical contact drawing his focus once more to the man and he turned away from the wand.  He didn't want it; he didn't want anything to do with it. 

Outside, car doors were slamming. 

The two men were conferring; Sasha slowly became aware that the topic was who was staying and who was leaving.  Adon was staying; Dreogan was wanting to leave with Sasha.  The emphasis - the two men's first priority was getting Sasha away ... somewhere.  Not on helping the others.  It was a grim affirmation of what Sasha already knew though his mind recoiled from the thought as quickly as a hand which had touched a hot stove, seeking the emotional buffer of distraction. 

"I-"  His voice broke slightly and Sasha cleared his throat and blinked rapidly.  "I think so."  He glanced down at his feet, his gaze then returning to Baldur.  "Where are we going?"  He glanced, briefly, at lifeless figure on the floor; his mind threatening to lead his thoughts from that body to the others beyond it.  He quickly clamped his eyes shut, both shutting out the image of death as well as holding back the tears that were, finally, starting to threaten. 

Home or St. Mungo's.  Sasha vaguely remembered those being the options Adon had offered a moment ago.  Home, of course, made little sense.  He was home.  Unless they were taking him to Germany.  That, after all, was what was supposed to happen.  Assuming, of course, everything was the same.  Which, it wasn't.  "What- What's going to happen?  I don't need to go to St. Mungo's  I'm not -"  Injured.  His face scrunched tightly, fighting a painful wave of grief and guilt as he shook his head.  "I'm fine." 

"We're going to go to my house; it's a bit far, and we'll need to Apparate," he explained in a calm, warm manner, squeezing the hand slightly, not wanting to let go of the boy's hand. Should he panic, he'd need that hand for forced Apparation. But he did not want it to come to that.

He looked over to Adon who gave a kurt nod of assent before moving to step over the body. He paused a moment before, with a flick of his wrist, summoning the wand Sasha had just been reaching out for. The shaft of wood cut through the air and landed easily into this hand. Adon curved his fingers around it before placing it in his pocket.

Dreogan fretted as he watched Adon at the door. Adon was carrying himself with bravado, which implied more than anything that he was nervous. He met Adon's eyes earnestly when Adon looked back. "Coat," he said, holding his hand out. It was only then that Dreogan broke his connection with Sasha in order to slip his coat off and hastily hand it over to his brother. It would be too short on him. It would show a good bit of cuff. . . But it was likely better than no coat at all.

Adon didn't seem to think so. He slipped it on, looked down at his grey trousers, and slipped the black suit jacket off. "Thanks," he said, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling them up. Now stepping over the body, Adon walked through the threshold and didn't come back. Dreogan heard the heavy, methodical footsteps as Adon walked down they way he'd come.

Dreogan looked to Sasha, a very hesitant, very subdued smile on his face. There was nothing to smile about in this situation -- only that Sasha, perhaps, was alive when he might not have been, only that Dreogan had been able to help -- but perhaps the expression would be more welcome than the grim-faced pall he felt more appropriate.

"Okay, Sasha," he cajoled, as though the boy were about to make a first, great jump. "Are you ready?" It was a courtesy question; to Dreogan, it did not much matter if he was or not. They were going.

Sasha nodded, distraction, confusion and a fair amount of preservation-driven, self-imposed foggy-headedness still clouding his expression.  But, reality was well on its way to setting in.  He was going to Dreogan's.  He'd been there before.  He was leaving home and, somehow, he was aware he didn't know when he'd be back.  But, wait. No.  He'd been to Dreogan's old flat.  Dreogan had moved.  Not that that was relevant. 

And,  yes, he had side-along apparated before; in fact, the first time had been a forced Apparition by Katsaros hand.  His harsh, forced introduction to that mode of transportation had left Sasha with a strong tendency to feel an involuntary sense of panic and loss of control on those few occasions he'd apparated since.  "Alright," he agreed, shakily, nodding.  "I've apparated before, with Kronos."  Had he had his usual where with all, Sasha would have hesitated more to admit such, considering his current audience.  The Eleor's ... disapproval ... of Kronos had been quite easy to recognize even during those few brief moments in Hogsmeade before Sasha returned home.  But, with his defenses as low as they were, he was struggling enough to grasp the truth - any degree of lying or strategic omissions of parts of the truth were, currently, far beyond his capabilities. 

The motion of the wand whisking through the air drew Sasha's attention and he watched it find its way into Adon's hand.  "What's-"  He hesitated, quickly averting his gaze from the Auror and the corpse and back to Dreogan.  "What's going to happen with it?"  Sasha watched as Adon donned and subsequently rejected Dreogan's jacket and turned to leave.  It was only after the man disappeared into the darkness of the hallway that Sasha realized there were, likely, any number of jackets packed in Sasha's bags by the door that would fit the taller man better. 

Dreogan tuned back to Sasha and Sasha accepted the small, gentle smile for what it was: a much needed gesture of comfort and support.  His resolve and reserves were faltering and quickly fading but he was feeling emotionally trapped and imprisoned by the crumpled evidence of what he'd done in the doorway and what had happened beyond it.  He nodded without hesitation, more than ready to be out of that room.  He took a deep breath and braced what few reserves he had left against the pending feeling of foreboding panic and breathlessness.

"They'll use it for the investigation," Dreogan informed in his soft, breathy voice. "It's evidence." He added, softly, "You'll get it back. In the meantime, I have a spare." Dreogan wondered why -- and then how -- Sasha would care about such a detail. Then Dreogan remembered how, at fifteen, he had sobbed at the sight of a broken door because of what it had stood for and what it had let in.

To Sasha's nod, Dreogan filled his chest with air -- a necessary precaution to the crushing feeling which would shortly follow -- before trading this dark room of death for the unlit front room of his home. It was silent, save for the scuffling of puppy claws upon the ground and a soft meow from the corner. Dreogan felt the soft pressure against his leg and looked down. Though he did not see her, the soft purrs indicated that Tabitha was there.

Flicking his wrist, the lights came on gradually, but remained dim. They were more calming, more reassuring; nothing was alarming in the half-light. "Here," he said, steering Sasha towards the couch softly with a hand on his shoulder. "I'll get you a glass of water." Drinking would loosen up the muscles in the throat. "There's a blanket on the couch," he added as he moved towards the threshold to the next, adjoining room. "You okay if I go into the kitchen a moment? You want to come"

Part of him scoffed at himself for caring about the fate of the wand.  He didn't want it - part of him didn't want to ever see it again.  But, at the same time, part of him felt a need or an urge to know where it was.  But, that was a worry for another day. 

A brief moment of panic, sudden darkness and a harsh sense of compression and Sasha found himself standing in the middle of an unfamiliar room.  He looked around the room, nervously, before he remembered that Dreogan had moved.  This must be his new house. There was a sudden scuffling of feet that sent Sasha's heart racing before he recognized them for what they were - paws.  "What's ... what's going to happen to Baldur?"  Something soft and warmed whiffled against his flannel pajama bottoms and Sasha reflexively leaned over to scratch the spaniel's head.  The warm, soft fur was an unmistakable source of comfort and Sasha knelt over to touch the dog with both hands.

He straightened and followed Dreogan's guidance to the couch and stood, watching it numbly for a moment.  He'd be waking there tomorrow morning.  Not in his bed.  Not in his room or his house.  There'd be no early morning Christmas breakfast.  No tense last minute preparations before loading the horses and starting on the drive south.  It ... it just wasn't there.  It was all gone.  No longer physically and psychologically imprisoned by the body in the doorway, there was nothing to hold back reality.  Sasha's vision blurred and his breath caught in his chest and he looked up at Dreogan. 

"N-no," he admitted, shaking his head.  He simply didn't have the strength or ability - and was too scared - to maintain any pretense of emotional control.  "I ... I don't want to be alone.  I - I'm sorry."  He followed Dreogan to the kitchen, his arms crossed across his chest. 

Then, suddenly, a thought occurred to him and he froze.  "Where's my sister?" he asked, his eyes wide with desperation.  What if ... what if they'd gone for her, too?  Elsewhere?  "Jacoba!  Is she ... do you know where she is?  Is she alright?"

Dreogan waved his hand welcomingly towards him. "Come on in," he urged, waiting for Sasha to cross the distance from the couch to the kitchen. Once in the new room, Dreogan lit a fire, over which hung a heavy cauldron. He did not say Sasha's apology was unnecessary -- it might prompt its own apology for giving unnecessary apologies. Sasha did not want to be left alone. Dreogan was happy to be company. It was, perhaps, the most simple thing they had dealt with that evening. He kept talking to a minimum, recalling the taxing expectation of conversation. The painful element of recollection. When Dreogan had come to alone, it had been the most terrifying, most hollow, and most agonising moment of his life up until that point. When he had gone to the Auror's office to report his father's kidnapping, when he had gone to answer and ask questions, it was the most exhausting. He had simply wanted to be with people. No requirements necessary.

The room glowed a cozy amber in the firelight. Dreogan motioned to a barstool, once more grasping the young man's shoulder to direct him towards it. He smiled as he made eyecontact. "You like cider or cocoa?" Once hearing Sasha's preference, Dreogan moved about, pulling two mugs from the cabinet, a pan from beneath the stove, a jar of apple juice -- freshly made -- and a prepackaged bag of assorted spices. (Akiva was an angel.) He spoke as he worked. "I am sure Adon will look after Baldur. He has to deal with the Muggle authorities first, but then he'll bring Baldur back." He assumed. Dreogan would, in a moment, go off of more than mere assumption, but Adon was busy. And there were more pressing issues to be dealt with.

He began to stir the contents together before turning on the stove and resting the pan there.  Sasha started, panic apparent in his eyes. Dreogan had not known whether the boy would want company. He gave a single, resolute nod as he moved over to the fireplace, putting the wooden spoon down and instead stooping over to swing the cauldron to the side. "She is with my family," he stated. Dreogan was comfortable and secure in the security of his mother's home. He'd far more precautions upon that place than his own. "With my mother and fianceé," he added. "Let's bring her over," he offered, reaching for a ceramic jar upon the mantlepiece and grabbing a pinch of powder. The flames sparkled a blue, then settled upon an acid green. Dreogan knelt down, scrunching his nose before poking his head in. He sneezed and sputtered a moment, closing his eyes, which watered, before opening.

Hestia was already there before him, face white with concern. "Where's Adon?"

"He's fine, mum. Just settling things up with the Muggle authorities."

"And Sasha?"

"Also fine. But he'd like to see Jacoba." Dreogan tried to crane his neck, but his confined vantage point from within the fireplace restricted that. He could see only his mother. "Can you have her come over right away? Kitchen fireplace, pl--" he sneezed. "I've got to go."

Dreogan withdrew his head and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He coughed once, twice, then moved back towards the pan, which was starting to bubble. "Jacoba's on her way," he reassured. Using the words 'your sister' would likely be too charged in this moment.

Though there'd been no details at the time, it was obvious nothing good could have drawn Adon and Dreogan to her parent's home just before midnight.  After a very brief and hastily dismissed offer to go with them, Jacoba had been left to wait, anxiously, with Hestia and Akiva.  Hestia had moved off to watch one of the fireplaces.  Jacoba had moved towards the front window - both to keep an eye on the front walk and in the hopes that being near the sidewalk would put her close enough to the outside muggle world to make her mobile functional.  Witches, apparently, watched fireplaces.  Muggles watched front doors and telephones. 

Time slowed to a frustratingly sluggish pace.  It had felt like hours by the time Hestia had stepped into the front room to usher her back to the fireplace.  "They're at Dreogan's?  Both of them?  Dreogan and Sasha."  Sasha was back at her Dreogan's.  Adon was still at her parents.  She could find little that was reassuring about this set up. 

With a hasty nod to the Hestia and Akiva, Jacoba stepped through the fireplace and into Dreogan's kitchen. 

She spotted Dreogan first.  "What's going on?" she asked, anxiously.  "Where's Adon?  You didn't ... you left him there?"  She spotted Sasha next.  Even in the low light, he looked pitiful - and moments from losing control.  Jacoba glanced at Dreogan in alarm before moving quickly towards Sasha, pulling him into a tight hug and pointedly ignoring the momentary tension on the boy's part.  Her first assumption had been the most likely: something had, finally, really set her father off and he'd cast Sasha off after having a good, solid go at him.  It seemed to be the man's method.  Any number of things could have made the man decide to swallow his pride and give up on the boy but, in the long run, it would be for the best.  It had been for her and she was convinced it would be for her brother as well. 

After several moments, she pulled back, giving Sasha a careful, critical once over.  "What happened?  What did he do?  How badly did he - I swear ... come here."  She ignored Sasha's initial round of hesitation and pulled him gently, but firmly, towards the light of the fire where she could get a better look. 

She glanced up briefly at Dreogan before turning back towards Sasha.  "Leaving your brother there isn't going to do a lot of good, you know.  My father's not going to give him the time of day.  I'm not sure why you'd try, anyway.  This is-"  To her surprise, Sasha suddenly choked up and broke down into sobs, falling against her.  She wrapper her arms around him, again, but turned towards Dreogan, completely baffled.

Jacoba appeared as Dreogan suspected she might: with questions. "What's going on?" Followed by "Where's Adon?" and of course, the concerned, girlfriend-ish chastisement: "You left him there?"

"Yes. He needed to speak with the authorities. Jacoba--"

But she hadn't gotten through the list yet.

"What happened? What did he do?"

"Jacoba."

"How badly did he-- I swear. . . come here."

"Jacoba."

It was heartbreaking. In this moment, Jacoba thought she was comforter. She thought the grief was Sasha's. She thought she was angry at a father who was still alive. That Adon was talking to her little sister, perhaps, about what happened. The lightness of not-knowing, the only thing keeping Jacoba fit for comforting, was about to shatter.

"My father's not going to give him the time of day--"

"Jacoba," Dreogan said softly, laying a hand on her shoulder, "please have a seat." Sasha, however, collapsed against her. Dreogan felt his throat constrict; the scene was-- it was too much like --

If Dreogan took Jacoba away from Sasha now, her strength, he didn't know what Sasha could bear. But it was dishonest; she needed to know. He swallowed and loosed a breath, considering how to go about this. "Please, both of you," he said, motioning to the wet bar of the island, where four barstools sat. He moved to the other side of the island, pouring out now hot water and procured the tea bags. It was something to do, but it was practical. Warm drinks kept the throat from constricting. Crying required this. It was nearly impossible to drink tea and cry.

Though sometimes crying was necessary.

"Jacoba," he said softly, knowing that this moment right now, here in this kitchen, would be the moment she looked back to with razor-sharp awareness. "I am sorry; there is no way to say this. Your parents and sister are dead."

Her arms still wrapped tightly around Sasha, Jacoba looked over her shoulder at Dreogan.  She didn't understand what was going on. Dreogan looked ... well, it would reason that he'd look upset.  Any encounter with her father was bound to prompt that.  But, there was something far more troubling ... far more foreboding about the pained look on his features. 

Her grasp on her brother tightened as the boy leaned against her but, as she watched Dreogan helplessly and cluelessly over the boy's shoulders, her brow wrinkled uncertainly.  The rapid fire questioning had passed.  "Dreogan?" she asked, quietly.  But she nodded as he gestured towards the stools.  As the sobs began to abate some, she guided him by the shoulders to the bar and onto one of the stools.  The boy looked terrified and lost and, at least from what she could tell, back to that withdrawn uncertainty she'd seen when she'd first emerged from the fireplace. 

The fifth time Dreogan said her name, she'd heard it clearly.  Her attention fixed firmly on the man, she slid one of the teacups firmly into Sasha's hands before cradling another between her own. 

"They're dead?"  A strangled whimper from next to her drew Jacoba's attention towards Sasha and she stared at him as her mind struggled to compute those six words.  They were dead.  Her mother and father and Anna?  She shook her head and turned back towards Dreogan fully intent on chastising him for pulling such a stunt when she stopped and stared at him.  This was Dreogan.  He would never lie or joke about anything like this.  Whatever protection she might have crafted for herself from quickly melted.  She quickly lifted her teacup and took a large gulp of the searing liquid. 

Again, she glanced at Sasha then back to Dreogan.  "How - What happened?  How did they ... I don't understand."  Again to Sasha.  "You're alright?  Are you sure?"  Once more back to Dreogan.  "Have you checked him?  Or, are you just taking his word for it?"  Something - anything for this to make sense or to feel some semblance of control.  Reality - the finality of it - hadn't really struck, yet.