Name: Henry D’Olivier

Age: Twenty-three, January 7th

Appearance: fluffy dark brown hair, gray blue eyes. He has long eyelashes and a dazzling smile with a small nose, a wide grin, and melancholic eyes. His sheepish smile and the mystery in his eyes are likely the most noticeable of his features. He is tallish, just under the six-foot range, and has a thinned out, runner’s figure type stature.

Personality traits: gentle, kind, inquisitive, intellectual, introspective, placid, shy.

MBTI: INFP-T

Enneagram: 5w6

Quirks:

*is mildly allergic to many, many things, and sneezes often as a result

*his passion above all other passions is cooking, and though he has not been allowed to do it, his dream was to study culinary arts rather than be an heir to the throne

*his attention span is that of a child’s. Either he is completely invested in the conversation and is excitedly talking over people or he is completely uninvested and shut down.

-i’ll probably add things as i write him; this is mainly for my own knowledge so i don’t forget anything lol-

Henry gazed out of the massive bay window at the castle grounds below, a melancholic expression occupying his soft features. The rain cast a heavy shadow on the regal landscape, though it set an ambiance of dreary nostalgia that the young prince very much adored. Days and days of sunshine and blue skies had begun to take their toll on his mental health and the quality of his thinking, proving to make him feel weak and incompetent.

He watched from the highest floor of the monstrosity he called a home as a raven-haired woman struggled against two guards. A smirk surfaced as he studied the scene with great amounts of intrigue. He watched until the woman and the guards disappeared from his eyesight before setting aside the volumes and volumes of books he had been studying and leaving his place before the large window for the first time in hours, set on gathering more information about what he had just seen. He descended the spiral staircase from his study in the tower down to the floors where people could be found, scurrying about their daily tasks like little mice. On the rare occasion he emerged from his study, he could be found on one of the main floors in a secluded space, studying the people and their behavior with the greatest level of intrigue, collecting notes in one of his worn study journals. Today was no different despite the looming sense of dreadful anticipation in the air that seemed to match the weather. A rumor had been circulating the castle that there was a great bounty cast on the king’s head, and an even higher one for the only surviving heir to this country’s throne.

“It’s all pig’s waste,” he studied his companion as they walked, the slightest air of annoyance lingering between them at the topic of conversation. Henry had chosen the graying man as his mentor because of his levels of maturity and awareness, neither of which the prince believed him to be using at the moment. He paused in his steps, crossing his arms over a faded sage sweater. “Wait a moment. Winston, you don’t actually believe…”

The graying man was scarred and wrinkled from years upon years of war stories and unaccomplished ambitions. He had looked at the prince with many expressions, but never the one of solemn terror he did in that moment. And wordlessly, Henry realized for the first time that he was bound to die.

…

“That’s enough,” Henry commanded, studying the woman in the cell. Her clothing was torn and her body scratched up in the places he could see, showing signs of a true struggle. The guards with her looked far worse than she did, however, and the prince recognized them as different guards than they who had been sent out to get the illustrious assassin many moons ago--he could only imagine how many men they had expended for this one woman. He yelled something in a different tongue, something Castilian or Latin or some other tongue of his ancestors, and whatever he yelled caused the two men who were in the cell with her to flee in fear.

“Your highness, she is bewitched,” one of the men turned to face him, and the dark-haired royal realized that the fear etched into the man’s features wasn’t entirely from his commands. “She will kill you before the royals have even the slightest opportunity.”

“Surely you do not believe in that trickery,” he chided, crossing his arms. He watched the woman with a concealed sympathy. “She may be one of the most wanted assassins in our country and the surrounding provinces, but she is a human first, and you are treating her like an animal. Now, be gone, and I will summon you when I am finished acquainting myself.”

The guards left quickly, and despite the warnings he had been receiving since he had first uttered her name, he nonchalantly sat down on the dusty floor on the other side of the bars, studying her curiously. His expression was soft, thinking with no malice--just thinking. He studied her with big intelligent eyes. She had been stripped of her weapon and her face was bare, a large scar occupying the skin around her left eye. She was bleeding from a wound or two, and though her actions had been feral, her demeanor seemed more dejected and restless than anything else. He slipped some food and some medical supplies under the iron bars carefully, as if interacting with a wild animal. He didn’t quite trust her yet, but he was eager to find out more about her.

“I apologize for their actions,” Henry began after a period of silence. “I have been told that someone has explained the situation to you already, and for some absurd reason you actually agreed. I can’t imagine what they threatened you with--typically they only threaten to kill, and I cannot imagine that makes you flinch.” A small smile formed at the edges of his mouth and he shivered gently. “It’s rather cold down here, isn’t it? If you’d like a blanket or something I can sneak one down here. Apparently I’m not supposed to be treating you like a human being with basic needs, but I’ve never quite followed royal policy anyway. Lord only knows why they inflicted harm upon you, it’s like they want me to die.” Snickering at his own joke, the prince chastised himself for talking so much--he was a nervous talker, and it went against every piece of his well-manicured persona. He allowed the silence to procure once more before continuing in a neutral tone. “From what I hear, we are to depart at nightfall for this mysterious cabin I have never heard of, but I digress. In the meantime, I am supposed to become acquainted with you so I can reassure my father that you’re not going to murder all of us the second we hand over your personal belongings and set you free once more, though I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Not to make you sound like a caged animal, of course. However, I don’t particularly enjoy the company of others, and you don’t seem as though you’d enjoy spending the afternoon in the presence of the man a thousand guards captured you to protect. My deepest condolences if they blew your cover, by the way. So, I am giving you a choice. If you prefer, I can send the guards back in to monitor you for the hours preceding our departure…”

Ayara had little fight left in her by the time the guards managed to drag her before the stone walls of the castle, though she struggled with what strength remained. The rain soothed her wounds, washing some of the blood and grim from her clothing. She hated herself for letting them get the better of her, especially after risking so much. At first they’d tried to be friendly about retrieving her, making offers and the such. She’d blatantly refused, not needing whatever they had to offer. She knew their kingdom well and wanted no part in their conflicts. Particularly not with ones of her most frequent employers being on thin ice with them. She wasn’t fond of getting in between the messy conflicts that kingdoms had, preferring to stay out of the way until there was a winner so she could come through and clean up the mess.

It had seemed to surprise them that she’d refused their offer numerous times, despite their threats of murder, torture, and whatever other evil things they could think of doing to her. They seemed to have forgotten she was an assassin. Her job usually meant killing prince’s not protecting them. She made this fact quite clear to them, though they seemed to not care. Eventually she’d grown old of their persistence, trying to scare them off with a show of power, or ‘magic’ as they chose to call it. She hadn’t really thought the choice over, figuring the guards would flee from fear and search for some other assassin that was more willing to go along with their plan. It was a poor decision, given she’d forgotten the fear men seemed to have of magic. Particularly when a woman displayed such talents, as with a man they would have simply let him be. Things had become violent quite fast afterwards, to a point where she’d been injured quite terribly. They hadn’t killed her, surprisingly enough, giving her a final chance to accept the deal. She’d relented and accepted, only due to the nature of the threats they now gave. They seemed to know she cared little for what threats they directed at her, so they’d started to threaten others. She may have been an assassin, but Ayara had a code she lived by. She didn’t kill because she wanted to, only because it was her job. She’d never kill anyone who wasn’t her target, even if they were in the way. As much as it hurt her pride to accept the deal after being beaten, she wasn’t going to risk others getting hurt.

This didn’t stop Ayara from fighting back when she got the chance, though it was simply a hopeless struggle. She’d fought, even when the cell door had shut and there was no real hope of escaping. She felt pathetic, still trying to win a fight she’d already lost. The fear in the guards eyes did bring her some sense of pleasure, though she was far too worn out to let them know. Each time one of the guards in the cell with her would try to approach, she’d scare them back off with some sort of animalistic behavior. She hated doing so, it made her feel less than human, yet it stopped them from realizing how out of it she was. After enough of this, they did seem to realize the lies in her actions and got more bold in their choices.

Ayara shifted her attention to the third figure as they spoke, figuring out rather quickly who they were by the change in the guards posture. She didn’t understand whatever he had said, though she found the guards response amusing. She did find the exchange between them intriguing. The most wanted assassin being human? It was a first for her, particularly as most people seemed content to consider her a monster first. How could someone kill and feel no remorse, yet still be considered human? She also found the statement somewhat flattering, in a strange way. Was she really the most wanted? The coin in her purse would agree, and so would her scars. Yet that coin purse was quite likely empty now, split up amongst the guards or simply in the pocket of whoever took it first.

She watched warily as the prince sat down, following suit because she was uncertain what else to do. She was slow to react to the items he pushed under the bars, low on trust even if the items themselves seemed rather harmless. After a pause, she pulled the medical items towards her, ignoring all but a couple bandages. She quickly wrapped them around the few bleeding wounds she had, wincing as the occasional twinge of pain shot through her body. She could have cared less that there was someone opposite of the cell bars. She didn’t do well with others, and if this was who she was meant to protect, she would prefer to not find any reason to actually want him dead. However, she did pay close attention to his words, making a mental note of anything that seemed important enough to remember.

Ayara wasn’t pleased with the idea of the guards returning, though she wasn’t particularly interested in spending several hours with this prince either. She would’ve preferred to just be alone, but that option seemed out of the question. She had little trust that the guards wouldn’t go back to treating her like some sort of creature after he left, which was what worried her about the situation. Sure, she could take the beating. But that didn’t mean she wanted to. Especially not if it seemed she had a choice. “I would prefer you over the guards, if you don’t mind. Besides, don’t I need that reason not to kill everyone?” The faintest hint of a smile teased her lips as she watched him, caring very little for how he responded. Whether they got along or not was none of her problem. If she was meant to take him to some cabin and protect him, then so be it. None of that required them getting along, and if she really disliked him, she doubted she’d feel guilty for just leaving him in that cabin.

“You know, you’re bewilderingly meek for a woman who has allegedly killed hundreds of men of the highest military caliber, caused several massacres, is said to have murdered three kings in one night, must I go on...” he paused for a moment, looming in the doorway. The glow of a lantern illuminated his stormy gray eyes and a few hanging wisps of his curly brown hair that fell down into his face, below the main fluff that had accumulated on top of his head resembling something of a bird nest. The golden light cast a shadow over his lips, which were curled upward in a smirk on the right side of his face. He had paused for a moment, merely thinking of whether to say what he thought or to let it pass--to add it to the journal of things he wished he could say. Really, he had to start doing that more--thinking before he spoke. His mind was clever and his tongue ran loose and unrestrained--a lethal combination for anyone, much less a prince. Yet, it didn’t seem to hinder him any. Quickly, he added, “not without due respect to your commendable adroitness, but I’m beginning to question the teaching methods of our military leaders.”

He chuckled to himself, amused at his own joke, before turning back to her. He faced her squarely but struggled to look her in the eye, instead choosing to let his gaze focus on the right corner of the room. He had never been able to maintain eye contact: it was a force of nature that dared to be reckoned with. He chose his battles wisely, and was often told to be socially awkward because of the lack of courtesy he extended to those who did not have his respect. Word got around, and by now he had acquired the reputation of something of a recluse, a pariah. Yet, he didn’t mind--in fact, he found himself to be legendary in the most eccentric of ways.

“If I speak above you, please don’t hesitate to stop me and ask for the meaning of a word. I don’t know much of your background, but I suppose it’s safe to assume you’re not very learned. That is, unless this killing of yours is a passion, a lackluster pastime to satiate bloodlust.” He chuckled to himself again--he felt rather amusing today. It wasn’t as if he had a choice of who he was each day, he just let the day decide. Most days he refused to utter a word to anyone here for fear of their incompetence, but on an occasion of utter rarity such as this, his mouth was a leaking faucet with nothing to dam it back up. On this particular day, the opened floodgates were provoked by an internal cataclysm of fear, or so he surmised.

Before she could respond, the door above the stairwell was thrown open again, followed by the thudding of heavy footsteps on the stairs. The sound of the footsteps was familiar and comforting, but the rate at which they covered ground was anything but.

“Regis?” Henry’s voice echoed across the chamber before the man had even come into sight.

“Yes, Highness. His Majesty the King has requested your departure immediately. There have been some...changes.”

“Changes?”

The aging male glanced towards the woman in the cell, swallowing. The prince sighed heavily, posture flippant and defensive. “There’s nothing she either doesn’t already know or shouldn’t know, Regis. If she’s to look after me she must be informed all the same.”

He sighed, as if obeying the prince’s words went against the very thread of his morality. He then complied, explaining, “many of the kingdom’s scouts have been shot down this afternoon. When they didn’t return, their reinforcements went searching for them, all being found dead--hunted down like deer.”

Henry swallowed. “Alban?”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Regis replied after a moment of silence. Henry had hung his head, visibly distressed. The sadness never left his eyes, it remained lingering on his face. Yet, after a moment of silence, he seemed to come back to the reality and the urgency of the present moment. When Regis felt Henry’s stare burning into him once more, he continued, “scouts were sent up to the cabin earlier today with supplies and horses, enough to survive off of for a good amount of time--enough time. The King was steadfast in his desire to keep the two of you as secure and hidden as possible on your journey.” He handed Henry a scroll that remained sealed, tied in a ribbon with writing from a language he didn’t recognize. When Henry looked up to question Regis, the man replied, “she will remember.”

The way that he had met the woman’s eyes held something very deep and knowing, beyond the surface. If it weren’t for the confusion on her own features, he would have questioned what the man had meant by that. By the time he had properly gotten his faculties about him, though, Regis was gone, leaving the door to the assassin’s cell unlocked and her chains broken. Henry had thought he heard Regis mumble something to her as he freed her, but it was so faint, so indistinct. Gesturing to a hidden side door in the dungeon that, to his knowledge, only he knew about, Henry gestured for the pair to make their escape. “I sure hope you know where we’re going, because I’d quite prefer to live another day.”

Ayara snorted. Meek? She was tempted to make some sort of sharp retort, choosing instead to heed her words. She could do little to hide the displeasure that settled in her features, her gaze directing itself elsewhere to prevent further irritation. Wouldn’t he look equally as meek, beaten and bruised in a cell with some entitled fool cracking half-attempted jokes. She was primarily surprised that he wasn’t already dead, especially if this was his attempt at trying to persuade someone to not kill him. She wasn’t going to let him know that she was fairly certain she wouldn’t end his life either way. Though that did depend on what words came out of his mouth next. Her temper wasn’t the most forgiving, and it was already frayed from her dealings with the guards. While some sort of harsh remark or snap would make her feel more pleasant, sometimes silence was the easier route. Albeit annoying, but it was more often successful than not.

She unsteadily drew herself back to her feet, ignoring the slight throbbing in her temples. She’d lost enough blood that it was irritating, but not enough to make her incapable of doing anything. The adrenaline that had pulsed through her veins was long gone, leaving behind aches and pains that made themselves known quite quickly as she moved. She found it easy to ignore his presence, at least as long as he kept silent. Hopefully this whole ordeal would be over quickly and she could get back to doing what she was supposed to be doing as an assassin. Killing people, not protecting nobles who knew very little about what life outside of polished halls and feats was like. Besides the false stories they were undoubtedly told by those wishing to dismiss the commoners' suffering. It wasn’t really her place to say anything, given she acted the life of a commoner all while walking with a pouch full of coins and more often killing the royalty that wanted to help them than the ones that didn't. She could go on for ages debating whether she was on the “wrong side” of things, but she didn’t care either way as long as she got paid in the end.

Ayara found herself quite literally having to bite her tongue at his remark. It seemed to be yet another attempt at a joke from his end, but she simply found herself growing to dislike his presence more and more. Simply because she wasn’t one to use big fancy words didn’t mean she was illiterate, though she found it quite bold of him to make that assumption when she’d only muttered a single sentence in his presence. Her anger was well shown in the blue-gray of her eyes, but she was mostly able to keep it hidden from her features. Spare the occasional clenching of her jaw and how she quite deliberately stuck herself in a far corner of the cell to dissuade herself from finding a more physical way to let out her frustrations. The footsteps rapidly approaching was a well-timed distraction, though she was puzzled by how soon it was that someone was returning.

She watched the new arrival closely, some man named Regis who appeared to be close to the prince in some manner. His news was unsettling, even to her, someone who’s life revolved solely around death. Hunted down like deer. Quite an unusual way for someone to wipe out a group of scouts. She figured from the manner in which they were killed it was likely another assassin, but she wasn’t going to jump to conclusions. She was still attempting to come to a conclusion about this matter as they discussed how they would be leaving, her focus brought back to their words as Regis said something about her remembering, though she had just about zero ideas as to what that meant. She did have about no knowledge of her life before being taken in by the assassin that raised her, but it wouldn’t make much sense for anyone in this kingdom to know anything either. Especially not whoever Regis was. It wasn’t that she cared that much for her past anyways, not since she gave up asking questions after most people had made it clear they had no answers.

Her gaze followed Regis as he moved to free her from her chains, a single word being mumbled as he did so, then proceeded to leave a moment later. It took her a moment to decide on what he had said before anything clicked. It was the name of a town that the people at the orphanage had suspected she came from. Long since destroyed, but she couldn’t recall how. Maybe during a conflict with another kingdom it burned to the ground, or maybe a plague swept through it and it was abandoned. The memory was too far off for her to remember, and she chose to ignore what he said until a more appropriate time to think it over. As at the moment, her concern lied more with leaving this place then delving into whatever he said.

Regis left as quickly as he’d come, leaving her gear for her. So they were leaving already. To some cabin she only slightly knew the location of. She sighed, slipping back on the light leather armor and slipping daggers back into their respective places. She was pleased to find that nothing of hers seemed to be missing, particularly her coin. How would she bribe anyone if she didn’t have the means to do so? Arming herself was a quick process, practically a routine to her. She’d put her mask back on despite the fact that it was probably unneeded as he knew her face, but it offered comfort and she was already stuck in a strange enough situation.

She tilted her head slightly as the prince gestured to a door that had previously gone unnoticed by her. The discovery wasn’t much of a surprise to her, given nobles sure did love their hidden passages. She stepped out of the cell, glancing towards the main paths and listening for any movements. The silence confirmed her suspicions that no one was there at the moment, so she headed for the hidden door, stepping into the passage on the other side. “You’d think someone would have told you where your own secret cabin was,” she muttered, looking down the passage. “Since this is your home, you can lead the way out.” She figured the way out wasn’t that complicated, but it would be easier to let him lead rather than end up making a wrong turn.

i know this is super tiny, i figured we would want to let them interact and make the next series of posts more dialogue-heavy so feel free to do the same :) sorry for the wait again, i got terribly sick and am finally on the mend.

“That implies that I know where ‘the way out’ is,” Henry held an impish grin on his face, leading the way with the confidence and assurance he surely didn’t obtain from tangible sources. “But I’ll never back down from a challenge.” He was mostly joking, but she didn’t know that.

They strode down an infinite network of channels, their path illuminated only by the light of a single candle. Every now and again, Henry would pause at an intersection, agape with that boyish curiosity he wore in his smile. In the beginning, he would turn and blind his counterpart with the light of the candle accidentally, but the more he watched her expression change, the more purposeful the movement became. Each alleyway was a different mystery, a different piece of a puzzle he so earnestly desired to assemble. He suddenly felt as if all the sands of time had come slipping through his hands, and he had taken for granted something he had hardly acknowledged as a blessing for the entirety of his life here. It made his neutral expression fade into a frown as the thought of wasted potential and adventure occupied his mind.

Reaching the sunlight at the end of the tunnel, Henry opened a large trap door that led to the back of the castle, towards the mountain pass. He held the door for the young woman, then spun to stand directly in front of her, eyes mischievous and grin boyish. “I never did get your name. Perhaps it’s better that way, perhaps you would like to make one up. Something foreign and outlandish would do well considering I never will know if you’re providing truth or lie.”

Though he had turned to face her and block her forward movement, he hadn’t stepped into her personal bubble. As quickly as he had turned to antagonize her, he turned back to face her and to continue walking beside her. For as private as he was about the things he was truly near to, he did little to conceal his surface emotions. He seemed to genuinely care about Ayara, glancing down at her wounds every now and again to see if they seemed to be bothering her. “If you feel weak or pained at all, I am not opposed to stopping,” he offered more than once. “You lost a lot of blood, and it would be better to be hindered in our journey than to not reach our destination at all.”

Ayara was growing to dislike this prince more and more with each passing second. She didn’t like people normally. They were easier to kill than they were to talk to or simply tolerate. As he led her through the passage, she came to quickly regret her choice of letting him lead, having been blinded by the candle in his hand nearly a dozen times. She cared little about hiding her irritation, despite how it seemed to motivate him further. Letting her frustrations get the best of her was a choice she’d likely come to regret. Not that she really had any way of getting away from this infuriating individual. It was almost like he was trying to get her to kill him, though she figured he was simply trying to see how irritated he could make her. A stupid choice, given she was armed.

Upon reaching the door, she was nearly about to charge her way out to be free of the enclosed area, only to be promptly stopped in her tracks. He really wanted to test her, didn’t he? She responded as nicely as she could, though her words were audibly laced with hostility. “My name is Ayara. But don’t let that stop you from calling me whatever you want.” A name was a name. She’d gone by too many for her to really care whether one prince knew her real one. For all she knew he’d never call her by that name, and instead by some sort of label he’d hope would irritate her further.

She set off at a brisk pace the moment he was clear from her path, finding it easy to ignore the aches and pains of her injuries due to her irritation. Similar to the wounds, she found it simple to pay no attention to his offers to stop because of her injuries. The offer did cause her some confusion, given he’d seemed plenty happy earlier pissing her off, only to suddenly decide he cared about how she was feeling. The repeated question eventually grew on her nerves, and she quickly turned to face him. “I’m fine, alright? Stop asking me and maybe worry about keeping yourself alive. You're the one people are trying to kill. I’m just collateral damage.”

She turned away, trying to keep her focus on their surroundings and where she needed to go. Her words were harsh. She knew it, but it was the truth, and there was little else she could say about it. It was doubtful she’d do well in a fight in this state and it would probably be wise to stop, but she didn’t want to risk the trip taking any longer than it needed to. Neither did she want to risk running into whomever had killed the scouts, given she doubted she had enough strength to put up enough of a fight. She did have her personal supplies and healing herself could always be an option that would ease her worries about conflict, but that left concerns about whether the prince would freak out about her being ‘bewitched’ like his guards had.

Healing became the best course of option as her wounds grew to bother her more over the minutes that followed, to the point that she ended up halting her movements and pulled her satchel off her shoulder to rifle through its contents for her healing supplies. “You say a single word, I promise you will be quick to regret it.” She didn’t bother to avert her gaze to her companion, figuring he had some sort of smug smile from him being right about them stopping. She sidestepped away, crouching down to pull out the supplies she needed. Her movements were quick as she unwrapped the wounds that were bothering her, applied a healing paste, muttered a few words in a language he was unlikely to understand, and proceeded to wrap the injuries in fresh bandages. Hopefully, he wouldn’t notice the wounds starting to close as she wrapped them, given she wasn’t all too interested in explaining. With luck, he’d probably figure his eyes were simply tricking him. The moment she’d finished wrapping the wounds back up she started to move again, briefly looking back to be certain that the prince was following.

“Ayara,” he paused, contemplating the name and the way it sounded and the way it felt on his tongue. “That is a fascinating name, what does it mean?” Some time later, he added, “my name isn’t much of anything other than the validation of my father’s ability to have a son succeed him. It’s a claim of legitimacy with a number attached, not much different than a brand you might put on an animal. It lacks wit, leaves nothing to the imagination.”

Following this remark, he hung his head and studied the ground below them. A gentle silence lingered in the air between them and for that short while the only sound that rang in their ears was of the wind that whipped off the mountains. The further into the path they got, the more dramatically the weather seemed to intensify. A fleshy hue decorated Henry’s cheeks. “As for your remark about collateral damage, you must believe me with everything in your being when I say that no one is simply collateral damage.” The nonchalance had been removed from his being, replaced with stoicism and seriousness. “Each person on this earth has a role to play in the divine interconnectedness of things. Everyone and everything has a massive impact on everyone and everything else, whether they realize it or not. To make a person the sum of their death would be to greatly misunderstand the role of a human life on the world--the universe, even. You are far more important than you let on, Ayara.”

Not long after his ramblings had ended, she pulled off the trail in the opposite direction of where they had been walking. He paused to watch her, assuming he had annoyed her with his thoughts. His mind annoyed most--something about the depth of it and the way few others could manage to remain on his level. It was arrogant, he knew, but his one wish in life was to find someone who could match him on an intellectual level. Perhaps then he would feel like he belonged somewhere, like he had purpose other than producing a male heir. After all, once that was complete, wouldn’t he be as good as dead in the eyes of the royal court? It wasn’t the thoughts he produced that mattered, only the children.

To his surprise, she had turned off the trail to rip her bandages off, applying some sort of ointment to her wounds that caused them to heal quickly. Before his very eyes, the wounds seemed to close on their own. He would have thought his eyes were playing tricks on him if it weren’t for the expertise he had in the magic of the old world. Very few people taught or practiced magic like that anymore, especially not in plain sight. His eyes grew large and curious, full of mirth and inquisitivity. He had many questions but he knew that it would be pointless to try and get them all answered, especially when she trusted him so little already. As they turned back onto the path, he allowed her to lead, no longer sure of the direction they were headed. He had gone as far as he knew to go.“Who taught you?”