Robin looks around in confusion.  It's too wide to be called a hallway.  And too narrow to be called a room.  One side of the... space is lined with stacks and stacks of what look to be framed paintings - all wrapped and covered for long-time storage.  The other side is a massive heap of small footstools of every size and shape.
            The corridor she was walking along came in here, Robin glances back to be sure.  And it looks like - she peeps around the shrouded stacks - yep, it goes out the far end.  But it looks pretty dark that way.  And all Robin's nose can detect is old cloth, old oilpaint and varnish, old wood, dust, mothballs and cob-webs.  Her keen ears can detect the noise of people behind her, but it's moderately quiet here.  And definitely quiet in the dark corridor ahead.
             The Ranger's shoulders lift in a sigh.  Why are all the quiet places also dark, dead and closed in.  Her features twist and she sticks her tongue out at the 'room.'  Bleeeah!
            Robin looks around again, she... ummm, she was talking with Reid.  And then she left... And now she's here.  And there was something else to be done tonight.  Oh yeah!  Folly.  The Ranger scuffs her boot-toe fitfully in the dust.  How was she going to handle *this* one.  She didn't know, she really didn't know.
            Buuuut, soonest begun is soonest finished.  Robin turns and wends her way back to where her ears and nose tell her all the people are.
            Once back into the noise and the pressure, the next poor page wanders into her range, and she pounces.  "Excuse me?  Can you tell me where Lady Folly is, please?"  There are some days when a smile is the best way to cover the grinding teeth.

            "In... in her room?" replies the startled page.  But then he recovers and offers to provide directions, if Robin needs them, explaining that Lady Folly was also moved into new quarters when the rest of the family came home with the army.
            The page's directions bring Robin to an out-of-the-way corner a bit removed from the main part of the new family wing.  In front of her is a plain door tucked under a set of servants' stairs.  Robin might think herself in the totally wrong place again were it not for the faint strains of lute music (and the faint odor of cat) emanating from behind the door.

The smell of cat brings a faint smile to the Ranger's lips.  "Fathom," she murmurs to herself fondly.  But you have to deal with Folly to get to Fathom.
            Robin ruffles her shoulders, fixes her 'I am a happy little cousin' face into place, raises her hand and knocks on the door.

The music ends with a flourish, and a moment later Folly opens the door.  She's dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt.  "Robin," she says warmly, and smiles with what almost looks like relief, although there's a bit of concern and maybe one or two other things mixed in there, too.  "C'mon in for a minute, if you like, while I find my shoes.  We going up the hill or down?"

"Up, if you don't mind."  Robin answers as she steps inside.  Her emerald eyes sweep the room, especially the lower regions and the flat surfaces.  She smiles a little ruefully at Folly's relief.  Yep, the Ranger's earned that little bit of worry all on her own.

Folly's sitting room is small -- undoubtedly smaller than the sitting room in her old quarters -- but still decorated in a style best described as "eclectic".  If Robin is at all physics-minded, she might well now be pondering the inverse relationship between size of room and density of clutter.
            "Up it is," Folly says, grabbing a sweater from the back of her desk chair and pulling it over her head before commencing the search for her shoes.
            When she catches and deciphers the direction of Robin's gaze, she lets out a soft "kit-TEE!" and a little grey fluffball comes skittering in from what is presumably the bedroom, mewing plaintively.  He stops short when he sees Robin, sniffs the air, and then advances toward her, cautious but curious.

A glimmer of warmth and light leak out from the Ranger's shields, and she sslllloowwly lowers herself to a comfortable cross-legged position on the floor.  Once settled, a low rhythmic hum can be heard gently coming from Robin's diaphragm.  And she scratches the thigh of her leather trousers with the fingers of one gauntleted hand, oh so casually.
            Robin does not look directly at Fathom, but rather 'off-looks' at whirlwind Folly, something that will still allow her to keep the feline clearly in her peripheral vision.

With a twitch of the ears and a wiggle of the hind-quarters, Fathom pounces, purring happily at his own astonishing cleverness.

A warm smile crosses Robin's face as she looks down at the cat mauling her poor defenseless finger-mouse.  With a fine sense of theater, the Ranger's hand makes exactly the right motions, startle, skitter, halt, cower, dash for safety... Fathom is a mighty hunter who has caught the prey of his life.  Or of this moment, at least.  Fathom is, after all, a cat.

By now, Folly is belly-down on the floor, one arm shoved under the couch. "Hello, sweet Fathom," she says, "we're going out for a walk, and... shoe!" She grins triumphantly as she hauls out a pair of high-tops and pulls them on.  She's moving with more haste than usual, as if in a hurry to get (or to help Robin get) the hell out of the castle.

Robin looks up at the minstrel, a flicker in her green eyes.  Then she shakes her blonde head with a rueful chuckle.  "Dung.  I'm slipping, aren't I, Folly."  It's not so much a question.

"'S'okay," Folly says.  She sounds like she can kind of relate.  "C'mon, let's get outta here."

With a sigh, the Ranger unfolds to her full height and steps out of the door.  Though once she's in the hallway, she stops and waits for the other two.

Folly stands, scoops up Fathom, and scratches him under the chin as she follows.

Looking back into the inverse junk/room ratio and the stairway, Robin wrinkles her brow.  "Folly?  If you want, you could use my room.  I have no need of it and it doesn't have people tromping overhead for morning watch."

"Thanks, Robin, that's a sweet offer," Folly replies.  "But I actually kind of like my room, even if it is a little on the small side.  Kind of reminds me of home."  She smiles wistfully.

Robin nods, "Well, if you ever need it for a studio or anything... it's there." She smiles a bit flatly, not at Folly but at the thought of rooms like these being home.

Folly leads the way out of the castle, using the most direct route to the outdoors that doesn't involve crawling out a window and scaling the building.  Once outside, she lets Fathom down to roam free and chase moths and mice and whatever else takes his fancy.

The Ranger steps outside briskly and away from the *walls* out into the open twilight air.  As Folly lets Fathom down, Robin stops and turns her face up to the sky.  A deep breath goes into the girl, lifting her arms from her sides and raising her to her toes.  For a moment she hangs there, eyes closed, letting the radiant dusk light of Amber fall unimpeded onto her face.
            Then the Ranger comes back down to herself with a series of neck twists and back stretches.  She smiles ruefully to Folly and with a sparkle in her eyes gestures outward and up Kolvir.

Folly lets Robin take the lead in striking a path away from the castle.

The Ranger has no difficulty whatsoever determining path or position here.  With a 'I know where I'm going' gait, Robin sets out up and slightly around the north side of the mountain.
            Slowly the air and the open work their magic on Robin.  And the distance, ah the distance.  The further Robin gets from the castle, the more... open she becomes, the more light is in her being.  Though her step?  The girl is tired, very tired, that much can be seen once she isn't locked down.  But as Robin continues on her way, she relaxes into her exhaustion instead of fighting it.
             She doesn't speak much and she keeps her pace to what a minstrel and an exploratory cat would find acceptable.  Though it's obvious that even as tired as she is, Robin could make much much better speed over open ground.

Folly seems completely content to follow along in companionable silence, enjoying the walk and the air and the space and the obvious good all three are doing her cousin.  She drinks in the sounds of the outdoors, the gentle rhythms of nature washing away the urgent syncopation of castle life.

Before long at all, their path winds its way into a small standing grove of pine trees.  Their hiss, dance and whisper on the wind brings another smile to Robin's face, this one so blissful it makes all her inside smiles look like contortions.  The emerald eyes that turn to Folly are dancing with green glimmers.
            "It's just over here."  Even Robin's voice is different, there's a dance of life, the caper of joy in it.

Folly smiles and follows in eager anticipation.

Stepping along the fall of pine needles and the undergrowth, Robin makes no sound at all.  The golden light of the sky falling through the shifting dancing branches shades, blends and refracts along the girl's form until at times she almost seems to fade into the trees.
            "There!"  Robin whispers in delight... and longing.  The trio has come around to the north side of the mountain where a fortuitous rockslide has fallen away.  Surrounded by mighty pines, the view from the height is breathtaking.  The sapphire blue of Amber's sea washes against a golden beach.  Verdant green dapples a line of low hills, like sleeping moss babies.  And beyond them, to the east - Arden, painted in golden and rose falls of light, greens, emeralds, viridians, forest giants swaying and talking to one another on the land's breezes.
            Robin just stands and stares for a while, drinking the sight in.

As does Folly.  For the second time today, she is reminded of how much she enjoys the view from high above.  She smiles wistfully.
            Even more beautiful, though, is the sight of Robin, alive and free.  Folly is in no hurry to interrupt the Ranger's reverie.

Robin's eyes look outward for a long time, sparkling and green, before the longing finally overpowers the delight.  She turns back to Folly and with a fine sense of irony says,  "I can see my house from here."  A sad smile lines her lips and she steps back into the shadows of the whispering pines.
            Moving a little more stiffly the Ranger seats herself with her back to one of the tall trees.  Something about the way she settles speaks of the many times she's been here before, beneath this tree at this vista.  Chuckling, the Ranger digs a flask out of one pocket and gestures to her cousin.  "Pull up a rock, Folly."
            But there is a quick flash of emerald in her eyes as she adds,  "Thank you," in a quiet voice.

Folly nods as she settles cross-legged onto the ground.  "And thank you for bringing me up here," she replies, her voice also quiet, her manner almost reverent; she is clearly a bit in awe of the beauty around her.  But then, with a gesture to the grove and a twinkle in her eye, she adds, "Your sitting room is way better decorated than mine."  She grins.  "And it smells rather better than the pub, I have to admit.  Good choice."

"Thanks.  But it doesn't have a Fathom in it normally.  So there's something to be said for both."  Robin chuckles as she takes a quick hit off the flask.  Those of sensitive nose will be able to detect the odor of a pretty strong gin.
            Robin sighs and leans her head back against the tree.  She stretches her legs out in front of her, looking to be taking all the time in the world.  Or at least all the time she has.

Folly picks up a couple of fallen pine needles, rolls them back and forth between her thumb and forefinger a few times, and breathes deeply of their scent, looking suddenly more pensive.
            "So... so that stuff I was saying earlier today, about people who aren't here...."  Folly pauses, her brows drawn together, and looks at Robin like she's not exactly sure how to say what she wants to say.

Robin raises an eyebrow.  And holds out the flask.  Oops!  She pulls the flask back and wipes the rim, blushing.  And then re-extends it toward Folly.

Folly takes the flask, eyes it with mild trepidation, and takes a tiny swig.  She wrinkles her nose as it goes down, then shakes her head vigorously as if clearing out the cobwebs.
            Yeah, that's what she needed.  She smiles her thanks to Robin and hands back the flask.

After a moment, she continues, "How well do you know your brother?  Not Jovian, I mean the other one.  Adonis.  Or, uh, Daeon.  Whichever."

"Only by rumor."  Robin chuckles.  "Though the rumors are mighty impressive, I'll grant that.  I heard that he was injured on the way back from Chaos.  And subsequently snatched out of Arden by his pissed mother." The Ranger's brow furrows at that, but she doesn't go any further.  Emerald eyes turn toward Folly with some concern, but Robin doesn't really know how to make things easier for the troubadour.

"Yeah, well, if you got the full report when you stopped in Arden, you probably know way more than I do," Folly says.  Then, more hesitantly: "Only... only there's this one teeny tiny part of the story that you probably didn't get, that... that I don't even know whether it's important, but I kind of feel like I should mention it anyway...."

Folly pauses, gathering her thoughts.  She has picked up a small piece of pinecone and is absentmindedly walking it back and forth across her knuckles.

The Ranger watches the dancing pinecone with a small smile.  She's listening to Folly, both the words and the silences.

"So, after Paige, um, looked in on Adonis, she suggested I should go sing for him, that maybe it would speed his recovery.  So I went in, and Adonis and I had one of those sorts of conversations that really only make total sense in retrospect, after you find out that the other person involved is actually a fertility god or whatever, y'know?"

A brief sympathetic chuckle ripples through the Ranger.

"But there were some parts that I understood even at the time -- like when I suggested that we could talk more at the big family dinner we were all supposed to attend that night, he said he might not be able to make it, because...."  Folly pauses again, trying to recall his exact words.  "'I have two families, and for the moment am more important to one than the other.'  By which I figured he meant that he needed to get in touch with his mother's people."
            Folly frowns.  "Which is why I don't get why it was such a bad thing when his mother actually showed up to collect him."  She shrugs.

"Weeellll," Robin stretches her legs again and re-crosses them in the other direction, "the short sweet version is because I suspect Prince Julian told him to stay in Arden."
             She smiles though, fully expecting that not to be enough for her  democratically-minded cousin.
             "See Folly.  My father is no slouch at knowing how the stones will fall.  And if he felt that it was important enough to *leave* Arden to fetch Daeon back, just as Heather Vale was filling up with rambunctious soldiers, sailors and Family -- then it was probably pretty damn important that Daeon be there.  In Arden.  Not in Arcadia, or wherever Daeon's mother took him to.
            "And, knowing Dad, it was most likely important in the good of Amber/Arden sense as well as in the 'my son's injured and wandering into dangerous territory' sense.  I can't even begin to guess at all the factors that Prince Julian was taking into consideration, but I know that he has *always* done what's best for Amber, Arden and his family.  So when he says something, it tends to be worth listening to.  Even if it's something you don't want to hear.  Or do."  A quick quirky smile dashes across the Ranger's face at a few pointed memories.

Folly nods slowly as she takes in Robin's words.  "You trust your father's judgement, then -- that's good to know."

Robin's brow arcs again at that, but she decides to hold her peace.

"And, all things considered, it probably was a bit sounder than your brother's at the time.  I mean, the poor guy had apparently lost rather a lot of blood before he went running off into the woods, and he's --"
            Folly hesitates, trying to figure out a good way to put the next part.  "Well," she says after a moment, "I sort of got the impression that maybe *thinking* isn't his strong suit, y'know?"  She shrugs, and Robin gets the sense that she feels somewhat, but not entirely, better about the situation.  "I hope he's OK," she adds.

"I hope so too, Folly.  I hope so too."  Robin takes another deep swallow from the flask.  "But rest assured," she chuckles grimly, "Prince Julian is on the job.  And he isn't one to give up on his children.  Not at all."
            Those green eyes glance over to the purple one.  And she reaches out to pat the girl on the knee.  "Don't fret about it too much, Folly.  On the one hand, Daeon is an adult, albeit a... frenetic one, and responsible for his own fate.  And on the other hand, his father is *the* last word in protection.  It'll work out alright.  One way or another."  A wry smile cocks one side of the Ranger's lips.

Folly nods and musters a small smile in response.  And she does seem reassured, mostly.  She pushes the lingering sense of vague unease to the back of her mind, to be worked out later, when maybe she has a better idea of why it's still there....

Then Robin tips her head back and let her gaze drift off into the soughing boughs above them.  Robin's nostrils flare slightly as she takes in the scent of the life around them and reluctantly she speaks.  "Ssooooo.  How's Brita?"

"Christ.  Brita.  She's had a hell of a week."  Folly's smile takes on a grim cast.  "She was up at the castle yesterday, and not obviously any worse off for having faced down a bear-goddess, but --"

A quiet smile passes over Robin's lips to hear that Brita is okay, however the 'but' tenses her up slightly.

Folly pauses, and blinks.  "Shit -- did we tell you about the Rebmans?"

Emerald eyes darkened by the shadows of the pines dart over to Folly.  "Rebmans?"  It's obvious from Robin's voice that she has no connection to Rebma at all.  It's as though Folly said 'did we mention poodles?'

"Yeah."  Folly cracks a lopsided grin at Robin's enunciation of the word.  "OK, short freaky version:  Corwin returned yesterday from wherever-he's-been, with a delegation of Rebmans in tow.  We've had no contact with Rebma since the Sundering, right, except for Brita's brother Conner who used to be a diplomat there.  But Corwin, using... I don't know, his incredibly well-developed estrogen sensors, or something... meets up with this bunch and brings them back with him to Amber, where the one in charge - Duchess Valeria, who by the way is Jerod's half-sister -- proceeds to accuse Conner of murder.  Never mind that the alleged victims are actually alive and well and living in Amber -- this chick is all about impugning Conner's good name.  Brita, who is quite fond of her brother, has been looking just a wee bit pissed off about the whole thing."

Robin's relaxed enough that the mention of Corwin brings a narrowing of eyes and almost a hissing.  The hawk she is mantles.  No, Robin is no friend of Corwin's.  "How convenient.  Using a relative of Eric's son to endanger of child of Fiona's."

Folly looks at Robin with concern, but doesn't comment.

Then like a cold wind it passes and Robin takes another swallow from her flask with a sympathetic shake of her head.  "Poor Brita."

Folly shakes her head.  "Really, not the best week for Brita.  Although she may've gotten some small satisfaction from the look on Valeria's face when Fiona challenged the Rebmans to a duel.  They had no idea he's her kid."  Folly's lips twist into a wry grin. 
            "It would've been really funny if it weren't so... not, y'know?"

"Ah.  But Prince Corwin knew, didn't he?  And he didn't tell them.  Such a... whimsical escort, he is."  Yep, there's the daughter of Julian and the sister of Jovian in that tone of voice.

Folly reflects for a moment on Robin's interesting choice of adjective -- no, probably just coincidence, she thinks.

"Something tells me he didn't know ahead of time that Valeria was gonna accuse Conner of murder," she offers.  There are undercurrents in her tone that say a good deal about where she thinks Corwin's head was at the time.  "But, yeah, it was... interesting."

The blonde's snort indicates that she wouldn't put anything past her Uncle.

Folly looks at Robin, her expression equal parts curious and concerned.  "Y'know, I've only exchanged a handful of sentences with Corwin.  You really think he's mischievous enough" (she doesn't add "or malicious enough," but the implication is there) "to want to stir up that kind of trouble?"

"Folly.  Two visits to Amber ago, Prince Corwin butchered many of my life-long companions and loyal servants of Amber in a treasonous war.  One visit ago, he made sure that many of the remaining same life-long companions and loyal servants of Amber bore the brunt of the Black Road's attack until such time as his own forces could step in and accept the laurels of heroes.  Soooo... what do I think he's capable of this time?"  Robin's face is cold.  "If he's taken an interest in Rebma, I'd be sure to sell all my beach-front property pretty damn quick." The girl takes a rather longerish draught from her flask.

Folly bites her bottom lip.  "Shit.  I -- I'm sorry Robin -- I wasn't thinking."  She stares down at her hands, still fidgeting with the piece of pinecone.
            "I just so desperately want to believe they've all turned over a new leaf, y'know?"

"That'd be nice, Folly."  The Ranger drops her eyes to the forest floor.  And her shoulders lift in a sigh.  "It really would.  But... centuries -- in some cases millennia -- of shit vicious infighting, back-stabbing, murderous pranks, hatreds, jealousies, treasons.  I just can't trust my back to the thought that less than a decade could wipe all that away."

Folly nods, but continues staring at her hands.

Robin looks over to her cousin with a sad smile.  Which turns into a quizzical frown as her eyes sweep Folly's form up and down.  "Verde, Folly!  You're not unarmed, are you?"

Folly looks up sharply in surprise at Robin's oath, and blinks.
            "It, uh, depends how broad your definition of 'armed' is.  I mean, have you ever heard me scream?  I can do some serious damage."  Folly grins, a bit sheepishly.
            "But, no," she continues, "the sharpest thing I've got on me right now is my wits.  Which is probably just as well -- they're more likely to get me out of trouble than any other weapon."

A warm smile is Robin's way of apology for the unexpected outburst.  She offers Folly the flask again, but mostly just to get it out of her hands.  If the troubador doesn't want any more right now, Robin will cap and set the flask down, leaning it against an exposed root of the pine tree she is resting under.

Folly declines the proffered flask.  By Amberite standards, she's a real lightweight, and she wants to keep her head clear -- to stay sharp, as it were -- for this part of the conversation.

Then the girl leans forward, her eyes elsewhere as she begins fiddling with her clothing at the base of her spine with both hands.  "Yeah," she says with a rueful chuckle.  "Your wits are pretty formidable, I'll give you that Folly.  And the 'love-me, love-me' behavior?"  

Folly bites her lip.  It's not *that* bad, is it?

Robin shakes her head with a low appreciative whistle, "Those two'll stop a lot of things.  But..."
            Robin gives a particularly fierce wriggle, and her hands emerge holding a dark leather sheathe which contains the handle of what Folly might recognize as a six-inch switchblade.  The Ranger holds the knife out to her cousin handle-first with a serious expression.  "...not enough things.  Please Folly."

Folly stares gravely at the knife for a long moment before reaching out, tentatively, to accept it.  She tests its weight, and the action of the blade, not so much because she's such a connoisseur of weapons as because she's hoping the tactile sensation will help her decide whether she could ever bring herself to use it against someone else -- even in self-defense.
            *Click.*  *Sproing.*
            No, she's not convinced.  Robin can see it on her face.
            "Are -- are you sure?" she asks, lifting her eyes to look into Robin's.  For all that she's disturbed by the implications of the gesture, she's deeply grateful for Robin's concern.

"Yeah.  I'm sure."  Robin nods gravely.  A flicker of sympathy runs through her eyes.  Deep green but Robin knows how hard (and how much it hurts) to fly against your soul's wind.  But Amber and the Family are harsh mistresses who don't reward lack of preparation.
            She smiles comfortingly to her cousin.  "Look, Folly.  Nine times out of
ten -- it's just a tool.  Something to scrape the mud off your boots, or slice the cheese with, or shorten lute strings or whatever."  She grins.
            Then gets serious.  "But the tenth time?  The tenth time the manticore has
you by the shoulder and it's stinger is coming up.  Or there's five of them and one of you and they're saying, "Just lie back and enjoy it, girlie."  Ooorrrrr some Uncle, with the light of ambition in his eyes and one hand behind his back, says he just wants to get to know you better."  Her lips press flat.

Folly winces and shudders.

"At those times, this little guy..." she points to the switchblade, "isn't going to save you.  But it *is* going to buy you time.  Something to lever those formidable wits around, Folly.  This isn't an answer -- it's a tool and an edge.  That's all.  But it's one I'm sure many of us would rather you had."  She finishes with a sad smile.

Folly looks at Robin for a long moment, silently considering.  Then she snaps the blade back into the handle and begins fidgeting with it, not unlike how she was with the piece of pinecone a moment ago.  It almost looks like a sleight-of-hand trick; if Robin is very astute, she may get the sense Folly is working out how to palm and then stealthily ready the blade.

Robin's astute for this type of thing, and nods appreciatively and approvingly.

"A tool and an edge.  A tool with an edge."  Folly's voice is a quiet sing-song in rhythm with the motion of the knife.  "May it be an edge I never need."

"Amen."  Robin agrees heartily and toasts her cousin with the regained flask.

She gives Robin a lopsided smile and palms the knife again.  "Thank you," she says quietly.  "I owe you one."

"Aucun s'inquiète." The Ranger shakes her head with a grin, "Don't worry about it.  You got me out of the stinking castle tonight before I went all psycho or something so I figure we're even."  Robin leans back against the tree with a smile, relaxing a little further in the twilight.

"Only two more days," Folly says, a bit more emphatically than she'd intended judging from the way her cheeks flush afterward.  She sounds perhaps a touch stir-crazy herself.

A warm sympathetic chuckle shakes Robin from the shadows where she reclines.

"I suppose you'll be heading back to Arden straightway after the Coronation?" she asks.  It's more of a statement than a question, really, although Folly's tone implicitly sets forth a related query: _Do you think you can hold out that long?_

"Prince Julian willing."  The return tone is _If I have to, then I will._

Folly smiles her sympathy at the Ranger.

"How about you?"  One bright eye cocks curiously to Martin's friend.

Folly's smile grows perhaps a bit sheepish, and she shrugs.  "These last couple weeks have been such a whirlwind that I hardly know which way is up anymore.  I'm thinking maybe it's time for the Soul-Searching Road Trip Of Which All Others Are But Shadows," she says with a quiet chuckle.
            "But I don't know.  The next couple days will be full of me trying to behave myself, more-or-less, in front of the company, and then we'll see what I get assigned to do."

The ferocity of Robin's sympathetic eye-roll indicates how difficult the 'behaving more-or-less' really is.

Folly pauses and shifts in her seat, then continues, a bit hesitantly, "Random said something about maybe sending me out on a bit of an errand, which would fit nicely with the 'road trip' goal; but we'll see."

There's a glimmer of green as Robin steals a sideways glance to her cousin at the mention of Random's name.  But the Ranger just presses her lips together, drops her eyes to her lap and nods to herself.

Folly cocks her head slightly, as if puzzling something out, but doesn't remark on it.

"Good luck with the trip, Folly.  And if you can, take someone with you.  It's not all that safe out there."

Folly nods.  "Thanks, Robin.  I will.  And I -- I'll be careful."  The last is strangely emphatic, as if it just occurred to her all the things she'd lose if she went and got herself accidentally dead.

The Ranger reluctantly draws her legs inward and stands up, dusting herself off.  "Well.  I should probably be getting back."  There's no disguising of the reluctance (and almost disgust) that tinges her voice and expression.  "I have to stay dans le château for the next few days."  She shudders and looks around at the darkening grove as though drawing it into herself and holding it there.

Folly watches Robin in silence for a moment, as if willing time to expand so that her cousin might remain in the outdoors just a bit longer.
            But then she, too, rises, and clucks her tongue a few times, summoning
Fathom home from his hunting excursion.
            After one more long appreciative look at the grove and the beautiful view, Folly turns to Robin with a grin.  "To the rockpile, then," she says. "But -- maybe we can walk slowly."

Robin grins back, green eyes, white teeth, flashing from the shadows.  "Ambling it is."
            The Ranger shoves her hands in her pockets and sssttttrrooollllsss her way back out of the trees.  The trip back to the Castle is almost exactly the converse as the trip out for Robin.  It's like watching a fire being damped down, smothered.  The sparkle leaves her eyes, her shoulders almost slump, her relaxation is replaced by a red-lined wariness, her expressions become closed.

Folly is acutely, almost painfully aware of the Ranger's transformation.  For her, watching it is sort of like listening to a classic song rendered as tinny, slightly off-key Muzak:  she can still hear the soul of it, but the setting is all wrong.
            Her heart aches for her cousin.

As the trio reaches the curtain wall, Robin glances to Folly, something furtive in her green eyes.  "Thank you again."  The girl's voice is oddly clipped, as though she was reluctant to speak at all.

"Likewise," Folly replies quietly, her own voice tinged with sympathy.

Then there is a sudden silence, a lack of presence and Robin disappears into the stone horror once more.

Folly scoops Fathom up into her arms, as much for comfort as for convenience, and, with a final sad glance in the direction of Robin's departure, makes her way back to her own quarters.