"An Ivory Tale, Chapter Two: Faithful Hounds and Their Masters" by Toni J Kaukinen

"Varus," said Ottaviano to me the other night, whilst lamenting his lost hair, "has it ever occurred to you to try a career as a cheap romance writer?" He had read the pages I had presented him in an hour, while I stuffed myself with mutton and wine, after which I had some honey tea - his honey tea, in fact. He seemed to have forgotten all about his pride - his hair, that is - and wine while he read, which was a welcome change to the sullen silence he had treated me with ever since I had first laid eyes upon his new haircut.
        I rather thought the whole comment was a bit rude, but nevertheless, it does well describe what and how I write. Frankly, I tire of the whole charade, but a vow is a vow, and I shall not probe this fact a moment longer.
        "Voices, Fists, Hearts, Ghost Eyes, Bleeding Hearts... well, the latter ones make sense, seeing that I've met you," Ottaviano said and eyed me, laying down the parchment. "And the Finding bit."
        I squinted at him and thought for a moment, translating his almost subtle remark. "Point taken. You will, of course, excuse me if I do not tell you our every beloved secret. But I shall explain a few things, if 'tis possible to spare a moment of your time."
        He frowned a bit, but nodded. Good boy.
        "Well then," I drawled, "I listed the two Guards, so I had best begin by explaining the Hearts. Originally they were a step below our highest nobility - that is to say, 'twas possible to become a noble of sorts by vowing to protect the tribe... yes, I see you have a question, but I shall answer that later on.
        "Should I simplify, I would say they are our chivalrous knights. Do not push your imagination too far - 'tis rare the Caedaren who will allow herself to be sealed inside sheets of tin or wield a lance."
        "I somehow got the impression it would make a very cross faerie."
        Faerie...What is it with humans?
        Faerie!
        "Yes," I admitted grudgingly and cleared my throat. "To further simplify, Eyes are our scouts and middlemen between the more primal ones. They are not quite as sneaky as we Bleeders are," I said, and Ottaviano's teeth flashed in a faintly mocking grin, "but never underestimate anyone who is equally at home in a shrubbery with a crossbow as in a warm bed with... well, surely you perceive my point."
        Ottaviano chuckled. "That bad?"
        "Worse," I assured him and smirked. "I already told you the Voices are magickers, and that is almost everything I can tell. Tight-lipped bunch, as magickers always, and heads full of secrets everyone else wants to know."
        Otto snorted. In contempt? Possibly - magickers!
        "Fists and Hands?"
        "I shall explain Fists later on," I smiled teasingly. "But Hands... oh, a colourful bunch... 'twas no pun, Ottaviano."
        He wiped the smirk off his face.
        "Thank you," I continued. "You see, they are our clergy, or, oh, a part of it. They are at their strongest in our temples, and believe me, I will not tell you why. Suffice to say they are partially magickers, yet they have a few martial orders that can be quite frightening."
        The Dondrean royal considered this grumpily and gestured at the wine bottle. I kindly had more; he had none. "All right. This Finding. The capital letter is intentional, I understand."
        "Intentional? I very much think so. Not in Caedaren alphabets, naturally, but 'tis a thing in itself. No, Finding is... natural. Everything is connected. Somehow. 'Tis a complicated matter, yet simple - and complex, in the spirit of..." I frowned. "Your language lacks the terms for it, unless the philosophers and magickers have a word or words for it."
        "Oh my goodness. Have I discovered a gaping hole in your vocabulary?"
        I mock-sneered at him and hoped he would put it aside. "Be still."
        He laughed briefly and grinned back. "Fine, fine. To get back to the Hands..."
        I frowned and rubbed my hands together. "No, I shall not discuss that. 'Tis too... fragile a matter."
        "Oh, yes, really. The real reason you will not tell me is because...?" Ottaviano ventured, pushing his luck.
        So, in response, I glowered. "If you were a swordman, would you tell me you merely pretend to be a left-hander?"
        "I sense a vague tidbit of wisdom being waved in front of my face."
        "Well said. Now free me, and allow me to get back to work."
        Oh. I regret to say; I did not brain Ottaviano upside the head for making such an improper comment, the one related to a possible (though not very likely) future career choice, nor the curiosity that was fitting for a Caedaren but not a human. I am certain the Queen shall brain Ottaviano for me, should I deftly slip her the beginning of this story.
        Forever your servant, your Majesty!

~*~

        The northern part of Teragon is, as I have previously noted, victim to poor weather all season round, and I too fell victim to it. Having refused gentle Coerai's offer to transport me there by means most Caedaren would consider dubious, I had made my way to the hide the traditional way - by foot and riding when I could. I daresay Coerai had taken no offence when I nervously decided against accepting her offer, but she had seemed slightly disappointed.
        On the fifth day of the journey it began to dawn on me that I ought to have accepted her offer, as I had now been subjected to two days of rain and wind. On the sixth day I finally sat in the safety of the hide truly hidden from prying eyes, feeling miserable, but not ill. The council there had been most understanding - which is to say they had not a soul that resembled in any way the fair Nyanvara. While they were not happy with what we were about to do, they could see the logic behind it. (Mostly, though, they agreed to it because they too wanted to know what this mess was all about. I dutifully told them they were to ask for the full report from a certain Dayamo Velanwia.)
        I told the council I wanted to rest for a night, to regain my strength and will - the Teragonian troops were lagging behind heavily, as could be expected. Armies, large or small, do not have the flexibility of a lone traveller. The following morning I was to break fast with the Eye in the council hall's private dining room near the kitchen and I wanted to be consistent and energetic by then.
        Come morning, I was ravenous when I finally managed to bring myself to get up and clothe myself. The servant boy had grown impatient already, and sulked about it openly when he helped me dress.
        "You're lax, sir," he told me as he chewed on a cherry sweet and tightened my studded leather vest from the back.
        "You think so?" I asked him and stretched once he was done with my vest. "How does six days out in the rain and the pour sound?"
        He did not look at me, but went to kindle the fire in the far corner opposite the door. "Sounds horrible," the boy said, nonplussed, and grabbed a poker.
        "But you still think I am lax?"
        "Not one day to tarry, sir. That's life."
        I chuckled at his cheekiness. "Fine, but I prefer to think life is a long journey. Sometimes one stops for rest."
        Having kindled the fire, he put the poker back to the side of the little fireplace. "Not so with most of you true lords," the commoner said. "You get restless feet."
        I quirked an eyebrow at that piece of insight. With 'true lords' he referred to people who actually fought for their title instead of inheriting it. Some Caedaren commoners take quite a while to understand there are differences between the nobles. Not so with this little treasure. "True lords? My, how old are you?"
        The child stared up at me and smiled unpleasantly, as if thinking I was patronising. "Twenty seasons come this season's Spring Day." (That is to say, Ottaviano, he is twenty years old.)
        "Plenty of time, then," I muttered, feeling slightly uneasy in such angry company. "Well. Let me not rest, then," I said back to him in my usual manner, "I have a breakfast to attend to, and then work."
        He nodded, taking his disturbing look away from me. Then he led me out of my room and down the corridors all the way to the meeting room. The Eye - whom I will describe soon - was already there, but had yet to have even a crumb to eat: the table was empty. She eyed me with the kind of reservation one would have when encountering someone of higher standing or of some renown. It was quite clear she was anticipating something.
        As soon as I was seated, the boy bowed (ironically, I am certain) and scurried off to where the smell of cherry tea, molten cheese, fresh bread and other sweet smells came from. I sniffed the air a few times, noting that she copied the gesture. "Contesq Lumbiawe," I began, softly, tasting the name, "you have quite the reputation among your peers," I ended, examining the Eye carefully. The woman was a good example of the seldomly seen and heard wilderness scouts, with all her equipment and brown and green clothes. But without the equipment and in proper clothing, she would have looked remarkably more like a noble girl. Her dark blue and tawny eyes and the very sharp nose gave her a somewhat haunting appearance, quite striking and alluring. Of course, her hair was cut shorter than was fashionable, and altogether she was heftier than most other Caedaren women - which was perhaps a bit alarming in a way, seeing that Contesq's form resembled more that of a young Caedaren man than a young woman. I wondered if her truebirthday was anytime soon.
        "You say so, Carenda," she said blankly with a weak accent of some sort - her undertone was sceptical. "Word is they've a punishment in store for me for getting them vital intelligence."
        You see what I mean by the young ones being mirthless and bitter. As if the boy was not evidence enough.
        I chuckled at that in spite of everything. "Doubtless they have merely teased you, journeyman."
        "Bloomer," she corrected. "I have some seasons until my journeyman's wanderings."
        I, promptly, stared. Bloomer, as in, "A novice, yet reputedly of no little renown among your fellow Eyes. Where do you hail from, being of such skill? Certainly not Highvale?"
        She stiffened and gave a tiny shrug. "Lost and found," Contesq replied in brief, resorting to humanlike terms.
        "Oh," I said. For one reason or another, I chose not to ask. She seemed crude, even more so than some 'lost and found'. She did not relate, either. A few things dawned to me, including why she had followed the bandits. On the other hand, she did not seem to be the type that was easily scared by something.
        "What can I help you with, Carenda?" she asked, turning to look at the boy who brought to the table the bread, tea and assorted items with which to build up a decent sandwich. He turned and politely promised to be back soon with porridge.
        I had been quiet as long as the boy had been there; she had been waiting for me to say something. "Firstly, 'tis a grave matter we face, bloomer," I said, taking my tea and thus permitting her to touch the food, "and I need not tell you that which you have already seen clearly." The tea proved to be sweeter than what the primary hide had offered: I smiled, in spite of everything. "I have already read your report to the Master, but I would, nonetheless, love to hear what you can tell me in person."
        She stiffened, again, looking at me partly annoyed and partly nervous. "If you want," she replied equably, showing not even the slightest signs of rebellion. She puzzled me.
        I made a sound, then shook my head at her. "I do. Soon. Secondly, before we stray away from the point, I will require you to do me a favour of sorts."
        "You want me to tag along."
        "Did I say that?"
        "You don't have to, Carenda. I figured this might be my punishment."
        Young ones... I rolled my eyes. "I said I would have your favour. That is what 'tis, nothing more - and yes, do not lift your tongue, I shall say it - nothing less. You were going to add that, hmm?" Finally, she reacted with more than a shrug, a fatalistically stoical look or gesture, and gave me a frown. "Why, I have your attention; I am pleased. Feh. Eat. We are expecting company."
        She crossed her arms and frowned again. Contesq was, however, very speechless, and after a while grabbed the spoon and fed herself sullenly. I regarded her as I ate, drinking her scent and aspects. The youngster had a few scars on her face and a tattoo that could have been self-made for all I knew. Lost and found, she had said, but where to and where from? She certainly had the straightforward way of speech some of the Bleeders preferred, but 'some' never means 'all'. Likewise, a few non-Bleeders also preferred to talk in such a fashion - in fact, the more... traditional, wilder ones valued crass and straightforward speech. As did humans, nothing strange in all that. If she was originally a lost Fistling or whatever, or had pranced with the beastmen or humans all her childhood, it did not matter at all. She was here; she was mine to command and currently fed up with both facts.
        The presence of her commanding noble, then, was another thing that clearly made her upset. Ganawade Raeneil was an old friend... though he might have had a thing or two to say about our 'friendship'. While we could be polite to each other in public and privacy alike, we occasionally quarrelled... and once we duelled, with both words and blades. He had something against my methods and I found his dull, mild and too safe. He, of course, would have agitatedly claimed that I was a reckless fool just having a good time and laughing my behind off while I watched dangers take their toll on our kind. To which I would have replied something of cowardice, soft-heartedness and folly. You have grasped the idea, I hope.
        Ganawade was a lanky youngster, the newly appointed Master Eye and commanding officer of the local Eyes. Outwardly, he was not very impressive: curly hair cut short (these two youngsters were apparently making a fashion statement), navy and green eyes and the kind of foppish clothes one would expect to see anywhere but in a hide. The den courts would have been the proper place for the clothes, but here they just stood out. But then, he was the kind that travelled to den courts often.
        "Exactly why did you want to talk to me, Carenda?" he asked, having downed two cups of the sweet hot stuff. "Surely not the bloomer here?"
        "Oh, no, she's a sweet creature, though she would do well to learn a few tricks. No, Contesq is marvellous: it was altogether something different I wanted to hear from you."
        I recognized the look on his face - it was roughly the same I had when the other party was avoiding to answer while at the same time telling, for the fifteenth time, that the other had something to tell. I covered my smile before it crossed my face.
        "I have need for supplies my lads here do not have. As 'tis, I was not expecting them to be so badly equipped," I commented with some mild annoyance apparent in my voice. He had more than an inkling as to what I was referring to, I could tell.
        "And for yourself?"
        "Oh, for myself and Contesq - and for my lads. If you can supply them with the essentials, I will write you a letter of compensation that I will send to Clearspring."
        He gazed at me and contemplated, biting his lip and fingering his collar. He had a very expressive, easy-to-follow set of mesmerizing mannerisms, which unfortunately led to him being a rather pathetic liar. But as I had noted seasons past, it was an integral part of his charm. "Interesting."
        "Furthermore, I will also write another sealed letter I will send with the messenger I am going to provide you with. It will be, as the other letter, to Carenda Taliat." After a moment of examining his face, I smirked. "I am certain you know who is going to be mentioned in the letter."
        He agreed to this, looking a bit sadistic for the same reason I was smiling ferally, and left Contesq and I to continue our breakfast. I was halfway through my second portion of porridge when the young lady looked up at me and asked, coyly: "They never said they needed new equipment."
        "Poor management, I say," I told her and had another spoonful of porridge.
        "You mean poor leadership."
        "That, and more. I would say terrible leadership." I looked at her, contemplatively. "Now that we are discussing this, would you mind telling me what you think of the individual Bleeders of the hide?"
        "Ask a Bleeder," she said somewhat hurriedly and certainly reluctantly.
        "Now, I would, but you see, they will be biased." I smiled at her, temptingly. "Come on. I ask this of you because I do think you have an objective vantage point on the Bleeders. Why, I am certain you know why I asked your Master what I asked him."
        She snorted, but did not seem to be quite so sure of what she suspected we had been discussing about. The fear was pointless: she had caught on. "The chief complaint of everyone around here is the Arenda. Ybarian Andayal is a brat who only got the job because he has influential friends elsewhere."
        I digested her words and nodded. (Of course, I already knew all this - it was why I had spoken with the young Master in the first place!) "Go on, you have yet to make your point entirely. What has he done, and for how long has he been in charge here?"
        "Some seasons. Not long." She looked at me for a while, and when I did not look away, she continued: "He's mainly been doing routine things, and has insisted that they not waste their resources on needless equipment. Which is logical, really. It's just that he's determined to show that he can work with less equipment than the others. Uppity bastard won't even talk to anyone unless he wants to."
        "He turns and leaves, do you mean?"
        "No, he won't genuinely talk to you unless he addresses someone first. I mean, damn! He does that to even the council members he doesn't like." She made a face. "It's like he's trying to get used to his future promotion to Carenda."
        I laughed, and I knew I had my messenger right here, in Ybarian. I finished my porridge while I pondered. "Well. I can understand that first bit - the contest for who has the sorriest equipment in use while being effective is an old joke. Of course, arrogance..." I frowned and eyed her, idly pondering about her again. She, staring at me in disbelief, was strangely humble for a young one. "...is something I will not accept. Indeed, I have received complaints, even though I only just arrived!"
        She eyed her porridge and ate, helping herself to a third offering as well. I had more tea while I waited for her response. "What are you going to do, Carenda?"
        Ah, the most obvious question. "I plan to confront him as he vents to good Ganawade about his lost reputation. We just agreed to this, did you not notice? You will be there to see the grand play, of course, if you care for a farce revolving around hurt egos and humiliation."
        "Comedy, you mean, Carenda." She was halfway through her porridge, staring at me quietly. I thought I recognized a speck of sadism in her expression and smiled at that. "Sure. Not that I really want to see the man suffer."
        "Yes you do."
        "Err. Sorry?"
        "Of course you do, you are, after all that is said and done, still a young Caedaren."
        She stared at me, uncertainty shining on her face so brightly it was painful. For all her merits, she was a bit dense when it came to realising subtle humour.
        Tikr, of course, would say it was twisted humour nobody else would even bother trying to understand.

        This might be a good time to explain a few things, though it feels like strangling myself with yarn.
        The factions, which are about as bureaucratic as a wolf pack, have ranks nonetheless. I am an alfa, so to speak. Arendas are gammas, and everything below that resemble your military rankings. To wit? I am a general. This Andayal fellow was a commander, and a junior at that.
        As expected, Arenda Andayal put up a show to rival all theatrics in the Grande Theatre of Clearspring. He was leading a patrol out of the barracks when he suddenly caught sight of workers moving supplies toward the warehouse situated in the same mound the barracks were. Contesq and I were standing on top of the ridge in which the buildings had been carved, leaning against the safety beam, waiting for the play to start. I, with glee. She, with shy glee.
        Ganawade and his two assistants - one a quartermaster and the other his personal assistant and advisor - stopped chatting about the weather the moment Ybarian Andayal cried: "Ganawade! What is this?"
        Ganawade, glancing at the troubled-looking workers and the supplies, smiled. "Why, new equipment, Ybarian."
        Ybarian ground his teeth together. "I don't need to tell you I didn't order any," he said vehemently, waiting for an explanation, which Ganawade was not going to give him just then.
        "I would have thought you'd be happy," he grunted, giving his men a knowing look. "But the point is, Ybarian, even though you didn't order any, someone did. Really, you can try to order me into taking them back, but I don't think I have to listen."
        Contesq gave an almost inaudible snort.
        Ybarian bit his lip, while his men were looking at each other looking nonchalantly. Finally, the Arenda squeezed out of himself the following: "I can't, but I'm not forced to take them either. You can drop them there and be gone."
        The workers, however, needed only to look at Ganawade once. The Master Eye's smirking figure alongside two other smirking Eyes was a clear enough answer, but he deemed it necessary to show who was the one issuing orders. "Nothing has changed."
        The workers obeyed without hesitancy, continuing toward the warehouse door.
        I know very well what went inside Ybarian's mind that day. If the equipment even threw a shadow on his warehouse, his reputation as a daring, courageous and resourceful Arenda might be over. Bleeders take risks - it is the way of competition with which some of them scale the wall of glory, advancing in rank and reputation. Credit is given in accordance to personal ability, not the amount of family trinkets helping one's prowess in battle. However, I, and Taliat, found this rule extremely idiotic when there were special circumstances to consider. Right now, the hide of Raddenshaw Bay was what I considered a dangerous place, though I do not think Ybarian saw it as nothing more than a means to advance.
        So, that said, I was not surprised at all when he howled at his men an order to unsheathe their weapons.
        Ganawade looked terrified, Contesq choked on her own chuckle and the workers froze instantaneously. They did not find it amusing, but I did. The amusement was to soon spread to them again, although I knew Ganawade was going to be rather upset with me. The joke was on him as well, not only on Ybarian.
        Speaking of whom, he was hit on the head by a leather letter container. He sounded rather adorable when he let out a 'peep'. "My worth! I have never in my bloody long life seen such insolence, stupidity and selfishness! A shame on you, as your mother would say, you troublesome young git!"
        Ybarian, rubbing his head, turned to glare daggers at me, most likely wondering who could possibly have the insolence to call him insolent and address him without him addressing me first. I leaned against the railing with my elbows, smiling and propping my head with my left hand.
        He took a moment to try and comprehend the events; for a while he did not seem to recognize me. And frankly, not that many Bleeders ever saw us Carendas. I waited patiently, watching him try to fume at me and then suddenly understand. "Er. Carenda?" How droll.
        "Oh, indeed. Please order your men to help the workers, sir Andayal. And do pick up that container; I have need for a man with special skills. Now, no reason to be shy. Come on up here while your men do the work, and Master Ganawade, do bring your men here."
        Ybarian's men had sheathed their weapons and moved toward the workers before he ordered them, apparently understanding the circumstances much better than their commanding officer. The man himself, despite his boggled stance, picked up the container and hurried up to me with Ganawade and himself.
        Contesq decided to stay quiet and simply salute her Master, obviously praying for the chance to go somewhere and cackle. "...bloody hell, Varus, that was a bit too close," mumbled Ganawade, never even looking at Contesq. (This, of course, made it even more obvious.)
        "Oh, I agree," I drawled lazily, keeping my eyes on the more-ashen-faced-than-usual Ybarian. "I sincerely hope you have a sound explanation for this and everything else I have heard, young sir."
        He hesitated, unfortunately for himself, simply standing straight as a tree and looking at me expressionlessly. "I..."
        "Now now, I know, you feel there is nothing better than being a Bleeder, yes. Which is exactly why I have need for your exquisite abilities and ambitions, young sir."
        Despite Ganawade's (and his men's) incredulous looks and Contesq's suspiciously blank face, Ybarian was trying to understand whether or not I was serious. His mind made itself up quickly, however. "...thank you, Carenda."
        "Excellent, indeed. You see that container? I desire it so that you leave for Clearspring as fast as you can and personally deliver that to Carenda Taliat, seal intact. Personally, do you understand? 'Tis a matter of great importance, and I shall not trust some halfwit who can barely take orders." (Contesq, I noticed, looked ever blanker.) "That was an order, incidentally."
        With things happening this quickly, Ybarian gave fleeting looks to everyone, then glanced over the railing. I could see he was seething, having finally noted I had something of a low opinion of him at the moment. But as any good Bleeder, it seemed he was going to make up for it by doing as I said. "Yes. As soon as I have supplies, I'll head off, Carenda."
        I did my best to look slightly dumbfounded and frowned. "Oh, no."
        "No?" he asked, quizzically. The delightfully horrified look in his eyes…
        "No time for that now, dear boy. Shoo, off you go," I drawled... and then reverted back to the days when I still trained the very first of the Bleeders.
        I yelled. "Move, simpleton! Hop, hop, hop, skip to it!"
        And suffice to say, he ran as if Father himself were thinking he needed a Caedaren called Ybarian Andayal to transmogrify himself a tasty snack. Including the profanities he thought I did not hear.
        Later on, Ganawade, Contesq and I sat in the barracks. "Varus," said Ganawade dryly, "you are a very cruel man."
        "My sincere thanks; it required seasons upon seasons of practice."
        He snorted. "I didn't appreciate him turning his men against their own kin," he continued darkly. Contesq looked from her Master to me while we exchanged words, once again duelling.
        "Say whatever you wish of the man, his subordinates are excellent people," I said around my pipe. "An order of that sort, and they obeyed... never mind the fact they had absolutely no faith in his abilities as a leader... quite commendable!"
        "Isn't that a weakness, Carenda?" asked Contesq all of the sudden. "To be unable to function alone?"
        I blinked at her. "Heavens, Contesq. 'Tis nothing of the sort. If issued with an order, they will obey... the means with which they are to complete the goals given are theirs to invent. No, they will not disobey an order, but are to be creative with how they reach their objectives. 'Tis the same as with you Eyes, and more than that, but enough of flock tactics - I am very dissatisfied with the man." I puffed.
        "...well," said Ganawade, peering at both of us. "Find a replacement, if you think his men were so smashing. Shouldn't be a problem, should it?"
        Now his tone was getting a tad too sharp, but that was acceptable, all things considered. It is not often a man will face an enraged snob ordering lackeys to slaughter someone… wilders, certainly, would not hesitate to slay someone of their own kin should said kinsman insult his honour. But as with all wilders, they tend to find that silly.
        I sniffed out gently and smiled. "Certainly not. Contesq, you are more than familiar with the gossip of the underlings - what is the word out there? Who is the most prominent underling here?"
        The woman murmured and stirred, looking at her hands. "Ask a Bleeder, aight, Carenda? I really don't want to meddle."
        "Meddle! Nothing of the kind, Contesq. Ganawade would be more than happy to see one of his brood telling harmful things to the venerable rapscallion who almost managed to kill him off indirectly."
        "…you put it so well, Varus," commented Ganawade gloomily while Contesq looked her usual dense self, in the process of coming up with a suitable rebuff. "Regardless, Contesq - you're his to command, so I suggest you co-operate at least on a basic level," Ganawade continued and quenched his thirst. "If you know someone good for the job, tell him. He's not going to give up."
        "I've noticed, Master," said Contesq neutrally, turning to eye me. "Well… there's the Huntress Lomerlen, or the Hunter Visiga. They're both really easy to work with."
        "You say so? How come?"
        "Well," said Contesq, looking away from the light with a stubborn start of a smile wreaking havoc on her serious posture. "Shall we say that I'm personally involved with them."
        Ganawade stared incredulously. I, on the other hand, had difficulties keeping my face straight.
        "So, you see I'm biased, too."
        "Evidently," said Ganawade and coughed. "Even so, I must go. I have things to attend to and... I honest to Mother hope you take care of her, Varus. And for heaven's sake, stop smirking!"
        "Beg your pardon, young Master - I was thinking." (When had she found the time to become 'personally involved' with two Bleeders?)
        "Undoubtedly," he said, teeth clenched and reddening. He hurried out of the room, and I suspect out of the building as well. Contesq was looking slightly apprehensive because of her Master's odd behaviour, but did not speak it aloud.
        I poured her some more tea. "Not to worry. Young Ganawade is simply keeping up appearances."
        Contesq snorted and accepted the wooden cup. "I wish. He gets like that when I do something he doesn't approve of. Which is often."
        "In the vein of running after a gang of human cut-throats with not a single soul to assist you? 'Tis only fitting that he worry about his own lackeys."
        Contesq stared at me for a moment, leaning her chin on her hand. "Tell me, Carenda Sayluna, how official do you expect me to act?"
        "Not very," I admitted with a smile and nursed my tea, feet on the table. "Is it not evident, wench?"
        A wan smile was all I received from the sad-eyed young Caedaren. She stirred her tea with her finger. "Very."
        I cleaned my pipe and regarded her quietly. Dense, maybe, humble, but somehow despondent: this was the Contesq of that time, and goodness if I could not help but like her. So easy to twist round one's little finger, so horribly steadfast when it came to following orders and yet not quite as conceited as most of the young ones. All in all, few of the numerous things yours truly appreciates in a personal slave.
        "Well, I suppose I shall say it aloud so there are no misunderstandings: call me anything you prefer, and I shall do the same… though I would do so in spite of this, needless to say." With a candle, I lit my pipe, brought it to my lips and eyed her from under my lashes. "What say you?"
        Contesq made a face and smirked at her tea. "Sounds fine to me. Aaa… so, anyway. Visiga and Lomerlen…?"
        "Do they have other merits than the ones you have personally tested and proved to be worthy of continued testing?" She blushed, so I continued: "Once you get over the lack of severity in my tone, answer - think about it with severity."
        She, after promptly covering her coy smile, coughed and fingered the cup. "Well, Visiga is… he's not the sociable type, but if there's someone who can get along with the wilders, it would be him. Lomerlen, on the other hand… oh boy. If there's ever been a stout woman, she's it."
        "Stout?" I queried, eyebrows raised.
        "She's big. Not as big as… you are, but… well." My assistant shrugged, smirking ferally. "She's simply put a military spirit. A strangely jolly person for a Bleeder, if you don't mind me saying."
        "Oh please, if there were a way for me to spare myself from the infuriating young ones…" I rolled my eyes, puffing a small cloud of smoke simultaneously. "'Twill do to say I would encourage jolly feelings and drunken, raucous parties if only my fellows would permit me the liberty to do so."
        She laughed, surprising even herself with that gesture. Coughing, she added: "You're weird."
        To which I replied with a faint grin. "I thank you. 'Twas hard to notice, was it not?"
        "Like spotting a wildfire right in front of one's toe."
        I chuckled. This was turning out even better than I had expected! "All things considered, my fair Contesq, you may expect a letter or recommendation or two."
        "Thanks. I don't suppose you're trying to recruit me for your personal little battalion?"
        "Oh, mayhap, but I shall not tell." I pointed at the door with the pipe. "Do you know your way around the building? Surely Ybarian did not prevent visitors from entering and visiting friends… then again, considering what the three of you have been up to, I cannot say that seems likely."
        "Heh. Master Ganawade was right about you in one sense. Once you get something in your head, you just won't give up, will you."
        "If I were to give in to anything, I would be feeding the trees, would I not? Now…"
        "I get the hint. Visiga and Lomerlen will be here soon enough if they aren't on patrol somewhere." With that, she got up and jogged out through the doorway. (Yes, Ottaviano, doorway - your precious Ternian does not have a fitting word to describe the opening between two rooms or a corridor and room. The "opening" I used is too vague, and "entrance" or "exit" requires so much context to work with. Remind me to mend your language, so that civilized old coots such as myself may express themselves most verbosely!)
        Oh, again I lose the thread.
        (But consider yourself to be in Fate's favour, for I would very much love to let you know every single flaw and fault about your character, leadership qualities and so-called virtues. However! Amanda already does all of that, so I have no need to digress further.)
        Finding the the two temporary Arendas took time. Just as I was almost ready to doze off, of the blue came in a young scarred man and Contesq. Her chipper greetingalmost sent me sprawling, so drowsy I was. Though I had not acknowledged it, I was still quite tired because of both the journey and the tirade with Ybarian. "Good Heavens, Contesq!"
        "Oh, so sorry, I really am," she chuckled and had a seat, whereas the man, most likely Visiga, stood straight as a pole and seemed slightly nervous. I have, of course, been known to have that effect on lackeys, an effect desired by many aspiring young officers.
        "…oh come off it, sit down, sit down!" I told the man, pointing toward the seat Ganawade had abandoned. "How much has yon excited young bloomer told you of the circumstances - or rather, how much of the rumours have you heard, if any?"
        The man gaped at me apprehensively for a moment, and then suddenly became very stern and formal. "The bare essentials, Carenda."
        "The seat," I aided him verbally, joining my fingers from their tips and leaning back in my seat once again. Yes, feet on the table. When he had occupied the seat, I yawned and glanced at Contesq. "Well?"
        "I think he knows Ybarian was sent to deliver a high-priority message, but nothing more," she said somewhat sadistically. Visiga, a man with brownish-golden eyes and curly, unruly hair, looked from her to me respectively, waiting with a glimpse in his eyes. It told both of us he was hopelessly glued to the seat out of curiosity.
        At times… I enjoy my dishearteningly boring profession. At times.
        "…oh, we must mend that," I said in a tone of cool, collected conspiracy. "Hunter Visiga, yes? Pray tell, what is your view on the good Ybarian?"
        "Seriously, Carenda? Oh, well, if you're sure… I hold no love for him."
        "Tell me something I have yet to hear, Visiga, would you? Contesq has told me that much already."
        He snorted, eyeing the tea Contesq was offering him. "Well, the man's a weak tactician." After taking a sip, he mustered his courage and continued: "When the moon was full last time, we took on a few beetlings. I can say the results were less than satisfactory, after we followed his orders. We just barely had enough time to stop the creatures from causing havoc at a nearby human farm."
        The tidbit did not really satisfy my curiosity at all, but at least the lad was talking for a change.
        "He, of course, blamed the trainers and the Hunters," added Contesq. "As any sane leader would."
        "
        I chuckled. "Contesq, what on earth have I done to you? Oh, no matter…" I turned to regard Visiga. "All right. Everyone makes mistakes, and I refuse to believe the man has done nothing worthwhile. But that is a matter of no importance anymore. The news are, I have a task for you, that is, if you do not mind."
        "Carenda," mocked Contesq playfully, "you've given me the liberty to speak my mind. And why do you ask him if he minds? You could pull rank."
        "I am not pulling rank at the moment. I am trying to be civilized."
        Visiga seemed to be digesting the scenery for a moment, but finally ended the verbal riposte-parry-riposte-parry -jubilee of ours with a curious question: "Excuse me, both Carenda and bloomer, but what is this and why am I here?"
        Our glances met, and for a moment I was merely contemplating the effect I seemed to have on these young ones. Ganawade was sure to have my head would Contesq truly become my personal assistant for life. And now Visiga - I merely strolled to town and lo, the entire hierarchy experienced a chaotic reformation. To this day, some Hands say I am too much like Father with my antics.
        "Well, I would say you are here because you were bred: because for some reason, you grew up a bitter young Caedaren and joined the Bleeding Hearts. What this is, that I will tell you now: I am looking for a replacement for the unfortunate Ybarian Andayal, who I am very disappointed in, and who is at this instant somewhere betwixt this very hide and the lovely rock formation I had the pleasure of passing by on the way." I glared at my empty cup. "Considering what I have heard, I am not ready to name a new Arenda, but I am ready to pass on the responsibility to the two closest individuals possible - which would be you, Hunter in Charge Visiga, and Huntress in Charge Lomerlen.
        "Questions, Hunter in Charge?"
        The baffled youth could barely contain a confused grin.
        "No. Good eve, then," I said, getting to my feet, "Contesq, if you would like a chance to have time with your two friends before we set off on an appallingly dangerous voyage, on which you might be slain, please do. We leave to-morrow. We shall break fast firstly in the morning and secondly supply ourselves before we take our leave."

I had returned to brood over the issue in an amusement theatre that served mulled wine (why, the hide apparently prided in keeping up with the latest fashion, it seemed), food, and boasted decent performers. The Dance of Moon and Life was being performed in the ring. The theatre, a round structure, had no roof, naturally, but its innards were shielded by plentifully decorated curtains that reached up, up, almost halfway to the roof of the cavern, supported by long poles. (This hide's roof had, thankfully, been shrouded with some sort of illusionary cantrips. I do so hate the sight of stone above.) The rough stone frame on which the theatre was built was very much hidden by the mould and the little plants and the occasional tree growing here and there, plus the marble seats and tables. Orbs of light shone from between the leaves of the trees, here and there. Blue, red, yellow, green lit the space with the candles on the tables and the fire opposite to the entrance.
        The ring was much lower than the beholders' seats, but not too low as to block the view to the dances and other entertainment. Bare feet and hands beat against the mattress-covered floor rhythmically (or chaotically, at the least) while two circles of orbs circled counter-clockwise and clockwise correspondingly, sometimes changing direction.
        And yet, for all its grandiose glamour and magic, the theatre of the Raddenshaw hide was disappointingly meek in comparison to the greatness of Clearspring and Highvale's Illusive Theatres. The entertainers were few, but capable, especially the lady who absolutely dominated the ring with her voice and body, and the place was undersized - when compared to the Theatres, that is. But then again, the Illusive Theatre was an altogether different thing.
        I had seen the Dance of Moon and Life interpreted in so many ways, performed by so many troupes and theatres (or Theatres) that it did not hold my interest for long. Nevertheless, it was much more entertaining than doing absolutely nothing. In the theatre, I could be served food and find amusement in the form of dances, songs and minor trickery, why, even cosmetics.
        To spare myself from a very curious look and a demanding inquiry later on when a certain royal git reads this, I will explain the latter. The theatre was a place where wandering professionals and local near-professionals could come to amuse the toddlers and the workers. Sleight-of-hand, stories collected from the ends of this continent (or improvised on the spot, as I often do when I slip into the minstrel's guise), and minor cantrips combined with true hairdresser's skills to create styles that will "Have Your Neighbour Go Crimson with Envy (and Come to Us for an Even More Flamboyant Style, So We Profit More)".
        So in a way, I do suppose one could indicate that the theatres are circuses. Telling so to the true performers, however, would result in a group of very cross artistes fuming in the corner.
        Thus, taking all that for granted, I sat there staring down into the ring whilst consuming some very delicious, greasy rat. I had some of the aforementioned mulled wine to lubricate my throat with, and was in the process of downing a good amount of both food and drink when somebody tapped me on the shoulder.
        Instead of suffocating or drowning in liquid sustenance, I calmly swallowed it all and turned to look upward over my right shoulder.
        It was damn good I had gulped already. "Graceful Lacon!"
        "Oh? So you do remember, lovely one," said the woman and took a seat without ever asking for permission.
        I resumed staring, finally forcing a smirk out of myself. "'Twould have been the death of me would I have turned to look before I swallowed, Clarefaer!" By now, I was grinning. "I cannot say I expected to see you here."
        "Oh, likewise," said my companion, whose silvery and red orbs gazed at me while her striking smile distracted mine. "But when I heard there was a Carenda in town making things hard for young Master Ganawade, I thought to myself: 'Well, it can't be Taliat, and Erkhan's too scholarly to leave his little tower - so, I guess it's the Senet-Man!'"
        I laughed. The Senet-Man, or he creator of the Senets. Senets, or the backstabbers and the people who mingle with politicians, for contacts... the dirty deeds, yes?
        "Well, it hit the mark, old cat," said she with a smile and gazed at me. "You've still not changed."
        "Bah," I said, finally managing to bring my wit back to date, "you judge the book by its covers - why, I may very well have become even more irresistible, hmm?"
        Clarefaer, hinting only mild amusement with her narrowed eyes, tossed back a wealth of straight, white hair and smiled. Truthfully she was laughing internally. "If you say so, but you might want to stop to think that the people you've slighted won't think so."
        "Who gives a bloody hand about what they think? Oh, excuse my manners, young wildflower! Wine? Rat?" (No, that does not come across as disgusting or offending to a Caedaren woman. You may tell the same to Amanda - I shall be overjoyed to have her meet a certain queen of the wasteland.)
        "Indeed," said the young Heart, looking into the ring. A crescendo cut through the air softly but quickly. A majestic staccato of choruses, some interlocking in what seemed to be a random order, soon washed over the silence it left in its wake. "Don't mind if I do," she said, squinting wryly at me. "That is, I order, you pay. I'm not falling for that trick again."
        "'Twould seem appropriate for me to reply in a mock-insulted manner," I noted, squinting back at her, but with the gentlest of smiles. "Yes, I shall pay for it. Tell me how your sister fares," I said, looking over her deceptively delicate shoulder at the hilt of a particular Caedaren long sword. I knew this weapon very well.
        Clarefaer, signalling to the servant, gave thought to that request. "Oh, she's doing very well. Tanderlain's still… as sheepish as always, and forever a boy, it seems."
        "Considering how mature he can be…"
        "Oh, he's quite mature," she said, then fell silent for moment that was just long enough to make her following words awfully dramatic, "considering Ifaí is in an interesting condition."
        There was another pause on her behalf as I coughed up the wine I had been trying to guzzle.
        "Surprised, Varus?" she smiled. "Oh, come on. He may seem a boy, whose sanity seems to have partially gone forever, but Tanderlain, however stuck he may be in his past, knows Ifaí to be Ifaí and not whoever his previous love was."
        "Well, I am bound to be taken aback by something of that sort, am I not? Ah, I can recall how caring she was whenever he had one of his spells of depression or incoherence: damned be, but he simply does not come across as…" I muted, finally. It had indeed taken a while to perceive how silly and childish I seemed. But to me, Ifaí and Tanderlain had always had that caring relationship that was not… normal entirely. They cared for each other, or at least Ifaí cared very much for the boy.
        "…someone who can look after a potential mate and litter," she concluded. "Well, does he? He has Ifaí, after all, and she has been taking care of him for quite a while now…"
        "Point observed and understood," I admitted, with a speck of guilt tarnishing my soul. "Are they doing well? 'Tis repetitive, yes, and inappropriate for me to ask, true, but I have more than faint affection toward the both of them."
        "Yesterday's rumours, Varus," she smirked, staring at me and knowing very well I was aware of her immense amusement and joy of seeing me sputter and act oddly. (More so than usual; or in a manner that deviated from my more standard behaviour.)
        "Well?" I prompted when she was not forthcoming with her knowledge. It was true - I had no right to know of how the young pair was doing, regardless of how interested and worried I was. It was not some taboo; it was, in their case, a matter of sad and joyous acceptance of their wish to be left by themselves.
        "Tanderlain is, if Sheiko is to be believed, 'migrating toward an eternal summer from which the poor youth once left'." She had a wan, dreamy smile, mixed with a dash of silent hope. "Do you know what that means?" Clarefaer inquired, knowing I understood.
        I chuckled, glancing to the side as I saw the familiar form of Ganawade sneak in and occupy a table on the opposite side of the theatre. "Sheiko, I daresay, has a flair for the dramatic. Yes, avert thine eyes - I too am guilty of that, if in a somewhat more proper, less sanctimonious fashion." I sipped my wine, finally noting she had received her own cup and had already helped herself to the drink. "The boy is recovering," I said conversationally.
        "Yes," she smiled, eyes pearly with some water. "Hard to believe, yet so… good a thought."
        The mood she was in was contagious - with a smile, I raised my cup. "To the health of Tanderlain and Ifaí, then - may the Whispering be quelled, and the new life safe from dangers the couple have endured for ever more."
        She searched my eyes for a while, looking for some sarcasm or amusement. When she found none, she lifted her cup and blinked her eyes repeatedly. "You're optimistic, lovely one," she said, "but to the health of them."
        We drank to that, she staring at the songsters whereas I wondered about this sentimental sister of Ifaí La'lyvain, the young one-handed child who had to endure ridicule for the lack of a hand and face dangers to prove herself to her own family and company. Clarefaer La'lyvain was, as most of the representatives of the inbred, if very extensive, family, a beauty. She was an intelligent, if sensitive woman, with whom I had gambolled a time or two, always finding it better to live in separation and never declare anything official. However we liked each other, we could not imagine a life together - I was the one who Bled, while she was the one who was Whole. And, quite frankly, her mind was not whole. Most Caedaren who serve as soldiers for the good of the Nation see ill things happen, and some quite cannot handle it.
        Having once woken up in the arms of a woman, shivering and covered in cold sweat, I had not been too confused when she did the same on one of our trips to the seashore and the warm waters. One may say that the Caedaren are a strange lot, for those who do protect the Nation are bitter or angry or scared of everything, but yet cannot shy entirely away from their own kin. They may fear the reaction of the Nation's dreaming and living population, but they cannot leave it be. The embittered stand together, finding solace in the lives they shield with their hides or in the other protective pelts.
        But Clarefaer always woke up sobbing.
        "…agree, Varus?" asked her familiar voice - I once again found myself in the situation where my own mind's voice had been stronger that that of the surroundings'.
        "Sorry? I was asleep in my mind."
        She gave me a look, but did not seem to take it as a slight. "Silly man. I was talking about those singers, there," she continued, pointing at the ring with the hand holding the cup.
        I looked with my eyes and then looked with my ears. A man, singing as if the stars were falling down from the skies to take place in mortal shells to teach again what the Age of Dreams was like, practically invaded the ring.
        A likewise gargantuan voice - this one was a woman's - attacked the silence when he muted for a moment. It was a battle of songbirds - the rhythm of the drums and the chorus in the background (when a significant, important bit in the story came and went) made it stronger. Stronger even than the images the portrayed with their dances and the bopping spheres.
        I was quite effectively thunderstruck. "Oh my," I finally said when it was all over. A multitude of howls quickly reverberated from the throats of everyone around me - the duo seemed to appreciate that we had appreciated their performance. And well they should have.
         "The Song of Falling Leaves," Clarefaer mused. "A prime travelling group."
        "Indeed. Costly - what could the occasion be?"
        "Probably something Ganawade ordered to amuse himself," I commented and sent a stare toward the Master Eye sitting on the opposite side of the theatre. "He does seem rather glum."
        "Oh, so that's Ganawade!" exclaimed Clarefaer and tried to peek around the heads and passing figures of the clientele and staff alike. "Handsome devil, I must say… now why does he have short hair?"
        I chuckled inaudibly and finished what was left of my meal. "The latest brand of style from Clearspring, I suppose, or then he is simply aspiring to become a trendsetter.  Either way, 'tis mainly amusing."
        She giggled. "Oh, but maybe it will be style soon enough… I hope not. My ears will look silly with hair like that."
        "Why, Refaer, dear, are you insinuating that there is something wrong with either your ears or hair? Unheard of."
        "Flatterer."
        "Merely the voice of truth."
        "You say so. What are you staring at?"
        "You sounded akin to the Eye I have taken under my wing," I smiled, peering around… and blinking. "Oh my. There she is, sitting with Ganawade."
        Clarefaer, finally washing her face of the blush, squinted and immediately turned to eye the… Eyes. (Atrocious wordplay, yes, I know.) "That girl? She sat down a moment ago. Why, Varus, it would seem you are getting indeed old!"
        "Evident upon first inspection," I retorted ironically, and we gazed at the two quietly for a moment. "Though mine eyes might not function the proper way anymore, I do think my ability to recognize the scent of attraction has not waned completely."
        "Oh my. Has your little strumpet taken a liking for someone else, is that what you are suggesting?"
        "One-nil."
        "We are counting?"
        "Not necessarily," I said, staring at the two before making up my mind. "Shall we? I find it likely I shall be having a late-night conversation with Ganawade concerning the safety of the bloomer."
        Clarefaer examined the situation at hand for a moment longer; she was curious about the Eyes, I could tell, but she was also curious as to what I had in mind.
        I had planned the evening to a certain extent only, but I had less than an inkling concerning what I was going to do with her… now, do not misunderstand me - I did have an idea or two, but nothing too concrete.
        In the end we ended up sitting on a branch high above the ground outside the hide, sipping wine and tossing acorns at unsuspecting Bleeders who thought they were hiding well enough. It always pleased me to still, in some minor way, be a part of their never-ending training.
        Of course, it was actually more annoying than instructive to them, but it amused Clarefaer and me. It was, in any case, a pale pleasure as only a single patrol passed us and left us without any extracurricular activities.
        Wine-sipping not included.
        "I tell you," she told me, tossing back a cup of wine, "this does bring back memories."
        "Happy, sappy memories, I take it."
        "As always. Mm. I don't think I have to even ask you if you remember the time you, your Senets and my companions ran across that one coven in Middlesborough…what a delight that was."
        "Delight? You have spent one sunrise too many with me if you remember it as delightful."
        "Aw, thou near ancient!"
        "How droll, Refaer! Why, I would almost think I ought to keep this up, seeing what a good influence I am on you and your linguistic skills."
        "Sarcasm, I take it," she said dryly and proceeded to wash that dryness away with wine.
        "Only a tease," I said gently, feeling uncertain. An ancient I may well be, but women will always think in ways old coots such as myself will not - and the other way around. "But! You said it was a delight, that incident in Middlesborough?" (Of course, manipulating them to some extent is something even the youngest hoodwinking lad is capable of.)
        "Ah!" she said and smiled languorously. "Quite predictable, really. It was a good fight and plenty of honour to go around, which you yourself pointed out back then. Not only that, but it somehow felt nice to show the midnight children how the game is served, played and won."
        "I also remember you getting very drunk."
        "I remember you doing - oh."
        I smirked. "You don't remember me doing anything." But I certainly did.
        "Pft! Besides the point, Varus. It was a swell celebration. We never have those, us Hearts. You know," she passed me the bread, "I just might reconsider my career options just because of that. The strictness isn't for me anymore - Ifaí, well. You know how it is. Strength means respect, but so does force of will. That's how every faction works."
        "Indeed, and you won't find anyone with more self-control than the Bleeders except the Voices, Spirits and Hands."
        "Feh. I know. But silently, I've been wondering if I should do the same thing Ifaí did - Woodswrath," she said and nodded over her shoulder at the hilt of her sword, "has traditionally been a weapon of the lonely Hearts. The world beckons, somehow."
        "And the freedom of working independently with any faction you wish? Lord Dayamo always cherished the life he had with the primal ones and his lonely ones. And mind you, you could do the same he did; instead of showing force of body, show strength of character."
        "An option, yes, but for that I would need someone willing to take me under her wing. So far that hasn't been a viable option, thanks to the old coot," she said bitterly.
        An idea had been slowly forming in my head - this lovely woman was always a little unsure about herself, but felt the need to serve and help. Yet she could not do so in the more traditional sense. I knew Lord Dayamo well enough that he placed trust in me and possibly would do me a favour if I asked for one. Being the chivalrous courtiers and the ones who guard the walls during the day, Hearts take their name idealistically, as you can imagine.
        And the favour, of course, would be taking Clarefaer under his wing. She would likely have to give her blade back to her family, but she did not mind. What is more, this presented me with an opportunity of sorts: Lord Dayamo was the commander of the Hearts in the primary Teragonian hide. Consider, then, that if Clarefaer were to enter his chain of command as an advisor (I was quite sure he would have use for a woman of her skills - and beauty), two problems would be solved. One: Dayamo, who was mostly unable to fight in battle and train his men, would get someone to replace him should danger threaten. Two: Clarefaer would (maybe) get to keep her sword and quite possibly find herself in a much better situation than she was in now. Her current unit, she had told me many seasons earlier, drove her up the wall. Apparently her commander (her uncle) had something against Ifaí and, lacking the primary target, took it out on Clarefaer. Naturally, her peers sympathized her but the matter was seen as a family issue.
        Of course, this plan was assuming that Dayamo would see the promise in her. I hoped that the intervention of big foreign boots would turn the tide for her.
        Oh, and the fact that I would get a considerably powerful ally was just coincidental. I swear.
        "When are you and your unit leaving for Alongshore?" I asked finally.
        "The following morning."
        "Excellent. That gives me time to write a letter of recommendation. That is, if you are serious about leaving your unit to pursue a new life… or commander."
        She looked at me eyes squinted. It seemed as if she was not quite as sober as she had been when we climbed. "You… you fox. You have loaded dice up your sleeve."
        "No, I store those in my pants. Oh, smile on, but give me your ear. In the acknowledged hide, there is a small unit of Hearts who in all actuality only guard the entrance and have gone soft due to their commander being tied up in the council's constant sessions of bickering." I also rather thought the man was much too infatuated with mourning the loss of his glorious career as a warrior. I felt, quite strangely, like a matchmaker. (The idea was actually very intriguing.) " Lord Dayamo would likely appreciate the help, but as most of you Hearts, he is slow to ask for help while being quick to provide it. Have I piqued your interest, young swallow?"
        "Go on. I'm going to regret this in the morning, but go on."
        "You do not regret it now."
        "I'm drunk."
        "I was referring to that. More wine?"

~*~

I had a chat with Ottaviano a few hours ago, and he asked to see what I had written since our last literary session. And of course I had no logical reason not to show him, apart from the somewhat useless artist's or writer's annoyance at having to display incomplete work.
        He read for an hour or so, sucking in all the details and undoubtedly trying to work out Caedaren psychology and such. Ottaviano, I am sorry to say, is much too analytical and logic-driven for his own good. But of course, that would be why he is so utterly smitten with his precious Amanda.
        "Varus," he said somewhat annoyedly, "as much as I enjoy your thoroughness, I thought you were in a hurry to get it all written. What is this? You're adding people to the dramatis personae constantly. It gets confusing."
        "Well now," I replied somewhat agitatedly, "there is a reason for all of those names appearing there. And may I remind you that 'tis me writing this story, whereas you are sitting comfortably doing nothing but using your eyes and wits to see and comprehend the markings on the paper."
        "Yes, I know. But you're prolonging this. Unnecessarily so. Unless this is somewhat integral to the story about the war, I suggest you start using that unfailingly boring, dusty narrator's voice you've used in countless chronicles."
        I glowered. "Ottaviano, dear boy, give me your ear. I will do as I please, and if that means I shall be writing a personal memoir of how I got into the war while telling you all the gory details concerning the machinations and slappings I initially set out to write, well. You will suffer my pleasures." We exchanged a few glared daggers. "And why on earth are you complaining, when you so clearly enjoy it?"
        That silenced him, but in the end I was rather too angry to write for two days. I did not have to speak to him about it, luckily, as he received an urgent call to a meeting of the Southern Belt Kingdoms. And then Queen Amanda returned.
        Amanda, who had been expecting with such glee to see her husband, was... oh, I believe the right word for it would be 'miffed'. Naturally, I saw it best to tell her what had been going on since her departure. Her irritation at not having seen his husband with his new haircut dispersed when I told her of my sad fate - much to my secret pleasure.
        "Lady Primrose of the Shield?" she giggled. "You have to show me, silly faerie."
        I never did understand why she insisted on calling me 'the silly faerie', but it seemed to amuse her every time. It was often better to let the sometimes moody and sometimes giddy blonde flower of the Southern Vigil's have her way than not. So, seeing an opportunity for both mutual amusement and a stranglehold on the pouting King, I presented her with everything I had.
        Unlike Ottaviano, who did not like to show his true emotions from time to time, Amanda was open about her feelings - up to the point where it became a little frightening. In that sense, she reminds me to this day of Lady 'Primrose' Eliandra of Teragon. What do I mean by this? I mean to say, she laughed, sputtered and almost cried at what I had written. Surprised as I was, I could not help but purr contentedly.
        This meant Amanda would kill Ottaviano if he did not let me write the way I wanted - that is, the way that seemed to please her. On another note, that meant I now had a crowd of two to try and please with my little personal insights into the war and Lady Eliandra.
        Loss and gain, but my worth, it certainly does not feel like a loss!