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They had been at Heartstone for two days and two nights. The other students were settling in quite nicely as they waited for Sean to return from his her Quickening, becoming friends (or more) with the Chiderans, learning the ways of battle, and learning about their abilities. But for Frida, there was no learning to be had.. she had little desire to learn the ways of battle, though one of the Chideran warriors insisted that if she going to carry a dagger, she would at least learn how to handle it, and had taught her some of the basics. But from the Chiderans, there were no answers. She had treated the pictures for the Elders, and they had been grateful. But despite their inquiries on her behalf, there was no one who knew the ways of the undead, or of anyone who did. She saw glimpses of them, here and there, but unlike home, these spirits seemed less inclined to approach her directly, or to wander aimlessly amongst the Chiderans the way they had amongst the students of Dalton. Yet it seemed as if they filled her mind with images of their death, and as a result she slept little, waking frequently from nightmares filled with pain and sorrow. For she had quickly learned that no matter how bravely or heroically a Chideran (or anyone else for that matter) faced death, the rage of battle was still horrifying and frightening, and the pain often terrible to endure. On their third night, she rose from bed from her nightmares, dressing quietly and slipping out of the hut. It was easy to come and go as one pleased here - no matter how much Sylvia tried to keep watch, the vast majority of the Chiderans treated them as heroes - and subsequently, as adults. There was no guarding of rooms, no ten o'clock curfews here. And so Frida stepped out into the darkness, wrapped in her furs to keep off the chill that swept down into the valley. She received a brief nod from one or two of the warrior women standing guard, for even here at Heartstone, they were surrounded by the wild things of the forest. They had grown accustomed to her late-night wanderings, for without her art to occupy her or books with which to distract herself, she was at a loss as to how to distract herself otherwise. So she walked.. quietly, amongst the buildings, until she reached the edge of the village, where the walls of the valley began to rise up around them, soaking in the quiet of the night, and trying to figure out how to deal with the unwelcome infusion of memories that the ghosts of dead warrior women seemed to be forcing upon her, even as they kept their distance.