For a while, Gruffydd knew only his breath.  The desolate landscape, his still classmates, even his own trembling form were, for a time, unknown to him.

Then, he heard Kazuo speak.  “Per…so…na.”

And, as a mask—the head of a stag—appeared on his face, and his eyes turned a sickly yellow, his worl became nothing.

[hr]

[color=red]”Heh…heh…heh…”[/color]  The head that once belonged to Gruffydd tilted to the side as large, inhuman yellow eyes fell upon the writhing shadows.  [color=red]”Well, well, well.  A den of monsters.”[/color]  A smirk broke out under the stag’s face.  [color=red]”Looks like I finally found somewhere I belong.”[/color]  There was laughter like the barking of a hyena, and those yellow eyes fell on Kazuo.  [color=red]“But you don’t belong here.  You are an incursion. An invader.”[/color]  The words ceased with a snarl.  The snarl grew into an animalistic roar, and the body that once was Gruffydd’s charged Kazuo, its gait ate the distance between them, and the shovel its hands held was raised into the air to bring down onto the invader’s head.

[hr]

Guffydd could hear music.  A flute, to be exact.  His eyes opened to the light of a fire.  It was at the center of wooden room.  All sort of figures danced around the fire.  They all looked familiar to Gruffydd, but he couldn’t place them.  Eventually, his gaze fell on a man dressed in red and gold, wearing a pointed hat.  He was the one playing the flute.  Immediately around him danced two dozen children, and a massive horde of rats.  Gruffydd didn’t know this man, but children, rats, and a flute player only came together in one place.  In a story.

[color=forestgreen]”The Pied Piper.”[/color]  A character from folklore.  Gruffydd scanned the room again, and sure enough, every person there was from a folk tale he had read.  [color=forestgreen]”That’s… strange.  Where the hell am I?”[/color]

[color=red]”An Inn.  A roadside tavern.”[/color]  Gruffydd whipped his head around to look at the speaker.  He was seated behind the bar, and so obviously the proprieter of this “roadside tavern.”  He was hidden in shadows, but his voice—strangely familiar—was clearly male.  Gruffydd’s expression turned to one of further confusion, and the innkeeper chuckled.

[color=red]”What better place is there for someone who doesn’t belong anywhwere?[/color]