Coleman pulled the rented luxury sedan to the side of the road. They where a
few hours outside of Portland, in dense wooded thickets, and the butler did not
seem to happy about it.

"Here we go, sir. Uhm, are we sure that this is the location desired?" Coleman
could barely see the Master from review mirror; what he could see---pale hands
grasping the strange, silvery box---made the butler more anxious.

Damon smiled then, amused in his own way. *This better be the place,* he
thought. Having no accurate way of determining where sources of power could be
in the what wilderness remained around Portland, Damon trusted a little luck to
find what he was looking for. Luck, of course, was excatly on Damon's side.

"Stay here, Coleman. Wait for my return."

The woods seemed strangely familiar, almost out of that laughable "Witch" movie
Ivy took him to see. *Ivy.* The thought made him focus upon his task. Help must
be found. He doubted the Queen Spider and her orderly minions could help him;
to static in their ways. No, he needed something that either knew corruption,
or was too wild to be touched by it. And that meant the wilds.

His "random drive" took him here, so there must be a gathering of spirits
nearby. However, nothing seemed out of place. There was a faint pull of power,
but he could not hear any nearby spirits. Save one, of course. Sebastian was
nearby. Watching. Waiting.

Afternoon hikes were not a usual activity for Damon, so the progress through
the woods was slow. If it could be said, the area became even more wild has he
did so: the tree grew closer together and more upright. Everything seemed a bit
healthier. *An after effect of the power nearby, no doubt.* The boy could feel
it getting closer, and with ever step, the faint familiar feeling of the Other
side began to creep up his back.

-SNAP-

It was behind him, the very loud popping of a crushed branch. Damon spun to
find a rougish looking sort behind him. The man, old enough to be his
father perhaps, seemed to fit the grizzled redneck stereotype that popped into
Damon's head. He seemed to be dressed for hunting season, and was armed for it
to. The rifle was held lazily to the side, as if the man did not consider it
his major weapon, but it could be deadly enough.

Damon was not the overly physical one. Already, he could feel the distant
dizziness that accompanied long separation from Ivy. One hunter, however, he
could probably handle, especially with Sebastian's help if needed. Best to
approach the situation cautiously.

"Greetings, hunter, my..."

The man cut him off. "You're trespassing, son. This is not a safe area,
especially for you." His nostrils flared with that last statement. There was
something supicious about the man's behavior that bothered Damon. He could not
place it, but something was off.

Damon fixed his gaze upon the old man. He had a mission to accomplish; no poor
redneck was going to stop him. "Thank you for your warning, but I believe I am
more than capable of handling whatever is out there."

As he spoke the works, the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. A soft,
familiar whisper entered his ear: "He's not alone. There are four more, and
they have dogs."

Damon tried to look without looking. Barely, just barely, he could see another
man, this time younger and with a larger build, crouching a few feet away. This
was looking less favorable. But not impossible. Not for a Rothchild.

"I see your friends, old man. I have no greviance with you; let me pass, and I
will continue on my way."

The old man shook his head. "No, boy. As I said, this place is not safe.
Especially for you."

Something was pricking at Damon's senses, something familiar. The box began to
twist, absorbing the pattern of the man. His pattern was strong, very strong,
and remeniscent of... the dog. Keegan's dog. His instincts where telling him to
be very cautious now. But he needed to find the spirits. "As I can see no
reason why you would threaten me, I assume you mean other dangers. Again, I
assure you, I can *take care of myself!*".

The old man did not seem to notice Damon's manipulation of the box or did not
find it important. But the old man's patience seemed to be at an end. He seemed
to stand taller, preparing for something. But then, the strangest thing
happened. Out of nowhere, a raven landed on Damon's shoulders.

The beast was large, far larger than that annoying bird, and its coloration
unusual: electric blue and black. More than that, however, was the fact that
this creature was not living---it was a spirit, called for some unknown reason.
A sign perhaps?

The old man took it as such. Unsurprisingly to Damon, he appeared to notice the
creature as well. He did not appear happy to see the creature. "Stormcrow? What
purpose does Grandfather have with this rotten one?" Damon could hear unrest
rustling through the forest. "Leave go, spirit! Let us take care of the pale
one, are own way." Damon could feel the strange rage in that last statement.

The bird spread its wings, blue-white sparks dancing along their edges. It made
no noise, but its cool eyes bore into the old man. Some voiceless communication
seemed to pass between the two. The latter did not seem happy, but after a
moment, took a step back from the boy.

"You are not welcome here, but you will not be harmed. Go, follow your 'guide'
then. Just get out of my scent." The last was said with a large sneer. Then,
right before Damon's eyes, his visitors just melted into the forest seamlessly.

Damon took a look at the strange creature. It considered him cooly, almost
absently. Then it took to the air, but slowly, deliberately. Damon had the
strong impression that he was to follow.

Damon's sense of direction could not help him when following the creature. The
traces of the node seemed to be getting fainter. But something told him to
follow the bird; told him that leaving it would be suicide. So,
uncharacteristically for a Rothchild, he followed.

When the last clearing appeared, Damon's heart sank. Before him was the car,
Coleman snooring lightly at the wheel. In anger, he turned back towards his
treacherous 'guide,' but it was gone. However, before going, it left a message
in dancing blue-white light upon the vehicle: "They cannot help you. They will
not help you. Seek the dark lady. Your answers come from the North."

Soon, the message faded and all that was left was a soft snore.