A long way away, a figure swathed in a layer of white cloth stood poised on a cliff above an ocean. Sea gulls screeched in the air and seals barked below. One albatross, the sailor's bird of misfortune, glided endlessly upon a blue tableau. The figure crooned a short, sad melody, turned, and began climbing down the face of the cliff. The seals sniffed at the air, and as one, they dove into the sea, pups clinging to their dams, fleeing some unknown power.
The albatross screeched. The figure paused, looking out at it, one foot still groping for a place of purchase. Then it screeched back, startling the gulls to flight back to their nests. The albatross hesitated, hovering, then glided closer to examine the interloper.
The climber lost its grip and slid the last few feet in a rattle of gravel, then stood and looked up at the albatross, who was hovering just next to the edge of the cliff, as if considering landing. The figure made a mocking bow. The bird screeched again and made a half-hearted dive, but shied well away from its aim. Laughing ironically, the figure waded out into the water, then dove under a wave and disappeared.
Another person, a pale skinned man, silently took his place at the pinnacle. The albatross made an indignant squawk, dove at him, and was caught by one leg. Then it disappeared to be replaced by another man.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded, tense and ready to fight.
"The birds took flight. I came to see what had disturbed them."
The albatross-man looked out at the ocean for a moment. Then, "It was me. There is no one here. I chased the seals away, too. And the fish. You will not find any animals but we two around for miles."
The pale one observed the other for a moment. "Indeed. How exactly like a phantom. Then tell me, where is her Grace going today?"
The albatross drew himself up stiffly. "You want a phantom's advice? Then hear this. Mix the Seeds, follow a dream, catch the Cat, the worlds will scream. That's a warning. So tell me, Baslon, do you take prophecies as seriously as some do?"
"I do when it is not colored by the prophet's own emotions. Because of those who do take prophecies seriously, I cannot afford not to. What would you do if I pushed you over the edge?"
"I am part faerie. You know that. It helps the shape changing to work immediately. I would pull you over with me, and then become a bird. Don't bother to expend the effort. You might die, and would suffer breaks in the working of your body." He turned and jumped. A dark grey albatross winged off to the west.
The pale man brought a small bag out of a pocket. He opened it and poured a few dark, lumpy, swirling-colored objects into his hand. "'Mix the Seeds, follow a dream, catch the Cat, the worlds will scream.' So Cherry Amano Tudor is a cat now? At least I have an answer." He paused, then sighed. "No, I won't travel the worlds. I am not insane, and I have no protection against the gates." He rattled the objects in his hand, then poured them back in the bag and put it away. Looking down at the cliff, he apparently thought it was unclimbable, because he turned and walked back the way he had come. At the bottom, the vampire glanced over his shoulder longingly, then up at the sun, and shuddered. "I'm not insane," he said again, as he continued across a plain.
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