The Ghielrout filled his mouth, nose, and lungs with a bitter cloud.  He did not cough, which surprised Seravance, but his face showed disgust.  She stared on him with great focus, curious what the concoction would yield.  Calhoon had been pegged as a loner from birth; Corna was for individuals.  Drugs helped one to own the individuality.  Whether one believed this or not, it cannot be denied that much is learned from an experience with Bulsa and Ghielrout.  Calhoon could not decide whether his body wanted to relax or tense, and Seravance could tell he was uneasy.  Her voice boomed through his skull, soothing yet voluminous, filling the crevices in his ears and teeth.
"Don't do anything. Don't make any decisions. Just let whatever happens, happen, and your body will get you through this. If it cannot, your mind will take over.  If that fails, your soul will protect you."  For some reason Calhoon needed to prove his body worked after this.  He suddenly arose, and ran to the door.  He opened it just enough for his head to peek out comically. He first believed they had talked Forte down, but he quickly changed his mind.  He decided that Ghielrout controlled time, and he was riding both like a wave. "Yes that makes more sense." He thought; if you'd like to call it that. In all this Seravance was startled but did nothing to stop him.  She was not the type to change another's natural path no matter how intrigued she was by them, and this grown boy from Dravus was intriguing.
He still was not sure when he wound up there, but soon Calhoon lay on Seravance's bed dancing in his own mind.  His thoughts were no longer his own. Or at least, they were no longer under his control.  Somewhere between reality and his subconscious and the ceiling, his life was projected before him.  He had trouble making out the difference between it all.  His mind swam down a constant stream:

Whitewash walls and the floor and up and my heart. Oh yeah, my heart. My body. Beaten beating be ten and have no friends fiver years shy of Father. Mother. Cherri. Philos. I lost the closest gained the furthest gained nothing. lost. losssssssafessinssickssadssoressshe can't be for me. Dark brown is dark hair. She can't be for me. I hate Dravus in the rain. I smell good. Why do I smell so good     ?      ?     Where did that go?!  My thought. It just. Gone. She is here for me.  Father. Mother. Cherri. My mind. Is that my only friend?! COME HERE, Beautiful meggun.        Come back.        I don't live among my people either.         i miss them. im is stem of beghieuled root and leaves left inside to fester and fatherless showdown body sick mind is a cavernous mine of crystalyzing catalyzing chemicals coming out as wallowing tears willowing away in flowers. I am just his son crying like his daughter     ? .       What time is       a black sword come down upon the fire I can only feel her now, mounted meggun mounting upon. My soul. Fast and quick but never loved. Never before. Never can. Love of aaaaaa...lovely wrat brroke. My head. My body still works, she works my still body. whispers.

"Shhhhhhhhhh." 
Calhoon lay in tears on the floor. He was not sobbing. He was not wallowing or losing control. He was just there, existent, with tears streaming like his thoughts down his face.  It was dark. Seravance had never seen or felt such a response from Ghielrout.  She had seen men lose their minds, but never had she been a part of so much.  Calhoon did not make a sound, but he did not need to.  She could almost make out his projections across the dimly lit white walls. "This one is special she thought."  She decided she would tell him after all.

*************************************************

He woke to the smell of freshly baked Autumn Bread.  Like most everything else in Orphan, Calhoon had only read and never actually been to Harvesthome.  However, he had learned enough to know about how unfair the simple and small town’s existence really was.  He appreciated every piece of grain he had ever reaped the benefit of, but he never truly felt right reaping those benefits.  When he was a younger man he had played with the idea of travelling to Harvesthome and bringing grain, but it made no sense.  They had all they needed, and it was taken from their hands by the evil and tyranny of man.  Calhoon was not proud of the state of things in Olivia, but even more he did not believe the world itself to be in balance.  He resented his time with the Entrusts, but moreover he was disgusted by the impurity of the operation itself.  It was one thing when thieves were thieves and soldiers were soldiers, but the lines had skewed by his lifetime.  He was not sure if he had the power to reestablish those lines.
Once he gathered himself Calhoon could feel his body pulsing.  There was a peculiar warmth behind his neck and head.  They did not feel like his body parts, as much as he knew they were.  His neck was more exhausted than the rest of him, but it did not hurt.  He could feel the meat of it.
"Cornath morning, darlin'." Seravance was standing by her table, slicing the freshly baked bread.  Calhoon tilted his head back to look at her upside down.  As he spun over to his stomach he realized he had never really taken her in yet.  She was a young woman, slender, nearly 25 if not, and whimsical in nature.  Her dark brown hair ran down to her mid-back, and was well groomed – something Dravus women never seemed to understand.  When Calhoon looked upon her, he saw beauty in such an appealing way.  With no catch, no vanity, and no self-absorption.  Just a beautiful woman who thought little of it.  Perhaps she did not know, Calhoon thought to himself.  Her eyes beamed as the hazel Corna and Tarna, chasing each other across her gentle sky face.  When she looked his way they beat down on him, and no matter how much he tried to look elsewhere he was always brought back to her hazel suns.  She wore a disheka, the only one he had ever seen in his life.  He only knew from artist representations, but the dress was so much more enthralling in person.  He pondered this thought before asking, sitting in her HOUSE. She couldn't be, but his curiosity had to be quelled.
"Are you a journeywoman?" He blurted out.
"As beautiful as this is, and they are, no." Referencing the dress. Her words tasted sweet on Cal's ears.
"Oh. Sorry if that was rude, I just assu-"
"Silly boy, it's fine. I'm wearing a dress that signifies heavy ties with Journeymen.  I can't entirely blame you. The truth behind the disheka is that I lived with a Journeymen tribe for a short time.  I ran into a...hmm...well a situation.  They found me, brought me back to their tribe and nursed me back to health.  I was confused at first, but the Journeymen are grand people.  When I tried to give them this disheka back they insisted I kept it."  Just as she finished her door burst open and a teenage boy rushed over to Seravance. He was about to speak, but noticed Calhoon and stopped.  She nodded with reassurance, and the boy began.
"Sir, the weekly state of things." He handed her a parchment. "Also your presence is requested this afternoon. Nothing urgent, but-" he glanced at Calhoon."They insisted it happen today. Is that possible."
"Most definitely. Tell them I will be there when Tarnath passes its midday state."
"Yes, Sir!" Just as quickly as the young man entered, he was gone.
Seravance set the parchment aside for now, finishing slicing the loaf.  She read the parchment in full, and as she prepared a pot of stew she finally spoke."Charming young fellow. You should meet him when he's not running errands."
"Sir?" He had so many other questions, but this one just had to be answered.
"Just a formality of the job. I certainly prefer it over ma'am."
"I know I must be prying by now, but what exactly do you do?" For some reason she knew she could trust Calhoon.  She only knew so much about him, but she had met many men and this man held honesty deep within his eyes.
"Well. If I DO tell you, you must promise me two things. First, that you tell no one.  Do so and I must have you disposed of. Second, that you come with me after midday.  Not as grave, but it would be nice to have company.  And I think you may find a place at my...work...so to speak."
Calhoon did not take this lightly.  He could tell she was most serious, and he had already resented his time with one organization.  However, he knew his curiosity did not promise his work, merely his secrecy and company.  So he bit, and he bit hard.  "No one will know by my lips.  And of course, I'd like a nice walk anyway."
"Alright then." She said bringing the bread plate to the bed to be shared. "This will take some time, and possibly a dramatization or two, so bare with me. More Ghielrout." She asked placing the pipe to her lips and lighting.
"No thank you! I've had quite enough. Bread will be just fine."