“Okay, why are we doing this again?” Katherine asked, trying to catch her breath as she lowered her training sword. Sweat trickled down her temple, and her ribs ached with each inhale.

  Lira grinned, circling her with a playful swagger. She delivered a gentle tap to Katherine’s thigh. “You’re the one who wanted to brush up on martial technique, remember?” Lira said, her eyes glinting with mischief behind the battered faceguard.

  Both were clad in lightweight armor—enough to ward off bruises but not the impact. The training swords, enchanted for practice, packed a punch; every hit sent a tingle of numbing energy through the body, building with each blow. At first, it was nothing—just a faint buzz along Katherine’s skin—but now her limbs felt heavy and sluggish, strength draining with every strike. For agonizing minutes after each hit, her arms and legs barely obeyed her. At least Lira gave her time to recover, pacing herself rather than pressing the advantage. Still, it was obvious: Katherine would need more than a handful of weeks to get the hang of sword fighting. The realization stung almost as much as her battered muscles.

  After one particularly clumsy exchange, Lira racked her sword with a sigh. “You know, I just don’t get you sometimes,” she said, shaking her head as she wiped sweat from her brow.

  Katherine picked herself up from the floor, wincing as she rubbed her leg where Lira had swept her off balance moments earlier. Her cheeks burned with frustration and embarrassment—she hated looking so uncoordinated, especially in front of a friend. “How’s that?” she managed, forcing a crooked smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes.

  Lira tossed Katherine a sealed canister of water. “I’ve seen you fight,” she said, a hint of confusion in her tone as she leaned against the rack. “You’ve shown me what you can do. It’s impressive.”

  Katherine let the cool water soothe her throat, memories flickering through her mind—scenes she’d shared with Lira, visions of battle and chaos made real through Luna’s magic. She set the canister down. “Yeah, I have,” she said, but doubt gnawed at her. If only muscle memory came as easily as memories.

  Lira flashed a crooked grin, teasing, “Then why are you so hopeless with a sword? You move like you’ve never even held one in a real fight.”

  Katherine’s laugh was rueful as she slumped onto the bench, trying to hide her lingering irritation. “Because I haven’t,” she admitted, spreading her hands helplessly. “The last time swords were standard issue in a war was before my grandparents were even a thought.”

  Lira’s eyes widened, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Really? So everyone uses those ‘firearms’ you mentioned?” she asked, curiosity bright in her voice as she leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

  A reluctant chuckle escaped Katherine as she remembered Lira’s confusion over the name. “Yeah. At least back home, everyone had to be pretty competent with one. And before you ask—yes, I know the arms don’t actually catch fire.” Her lips lifted in a genuine, self-deprecating smile, tension easing just a bit as their shared laughter filled the training hall.

  Suddenly, a faint creak sliced through the quiet—a door’s old hinges protesting as it swung inward, letting a shaft of pale, dust-speckled light spill across the training hall’s stone floor. Katherine’s muscles tensed instinctively, skin prickling with a chill as cool air brushed against sweat-dampened armor. A small figure appeared on the threshold. They weren’t quite diminutive enough to be mistaken for an oreseeker, yet their hunched stance seemed to fold them in on themselves, making them look as if they were trying to disappear into the earthen-colored layers of their clothing. The muted browns and ochres seemed oddly familiar, tugging at something half-remembered in Katherine’s mind, though she couldn’t say why. Every bootstep was muffled by the thick rugs, but the sudden disruption in the atmosphere made the room feel much smaller, as if everyone’s breath was being held at once.

  “Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was in here,” the stranger murmured, their voice soft but edged with something brittle. Without meeting anyone’s eyes, they retreated, closing the door behind them with a gentle but unmistakable click—a sound that seemed louder for the tension it left behind.

  Katherine’s pulse thudded, the echo of her earlier embarrassment giving way to a sharper, unsettled curiosity. The glowstones overhead flickered, casting wavering shadows that made her feel momentarily disoriented, as if the room itself was watching. She shot Lira a questioning look, worry threading through her words. “Did she look familiar to you?”

  She smelled familiar, Shade’s voice drifted from the far corner, his head nestled into the plush, velvety folds of a pillow that always seemed to cradle warmth against the chill stone floor. But not in the way you’d expect. I don’t like it. She doesn’t smell normal—like old roots and rain, but… wrong.

  Lira’s brows drew together, and she let out a slow breath as if trying to dispel the strange heaviness left in the intruder’s wake. “I don’t believe I’ve met her. She could’ve been sent to clean, not realizing we were still here,” she said, her tone steady but her fingers drumming nervously on the edge of her practice blade. Katherine caught the flicker of unease in Lira’s eyes—a rare break in her usual composure.

  …

  Katherine lingered near a gathering of roughly twenty, standing just apart from the huddled clusters that had formed—each a group of five, not counting the proctors, who hovered like sentinels, two pairs of watchful eyes. The hall brimmed with muted chatter and the faint tang of sweat, but a sharper, unfamiliar scent prickled at the edge of Katherine’s awareness, stirring unease among her companions.

  What is that smell? Shade’s voice rumbled low and tense, his agitation clear as he bared his fangs in an uneasy growl. It’s even worse than those fire beasts you used to keep company with. It burns in my nose.

  “Shade, we’ve talked about this,” Katherine murmured, her tone firm but gentle, trying to keep her private admonition from spilling into the group’s attention. “Just because only I can hear you, doesn’t mean you get to be rude.” Her words drew puzzled glances from those closest, eyebrows rising in confusion. Recovering quickly, she managed a sheepish smile. “Sorry—my familiar dislikes someone’s perfume,” she explained, voice strained but light, hoping to smooth the awkwardness.

  Luna slunk out from beneath a bench, pressing her soft fur urgently against Katherine’s thigh. Her ears flattened tight to her skull, tail lashing with mounting distress as she inhaled. A tremor ran the length of her body, and her eyes narrowed to slits, watery and anxious. She gagged, mouth open in a silent retch, her flanks heaving as if the very air clawed at her throat. Gathering whatever composure she could, Luna cast a fleeting, apologetic look at Katherine before slipping away, paws barely making a sound—her retreat graceful yet desperate, as though she was fleeing a predator.

  Katherine noticed how the scent seemed faint, barely perceptible to her own senses. Why did Luna react so violently, as if it were something vile or dangerous? A flicker of curiosity mingled with concern, the question nagging at her even as Luna’s distress faded into the background hum of the hall.

  “I’m sorry about your familiar,” came a timid voice, brittle as parchment, from behind her.

  Katherine turned, recognizing the hunched figure from what felt like a lifetime ago—though the memory was just weeks old. The stranger’s clothes still held that same earthen palette, blending into the hall’s shadows.

  “Do you know what’s causing this?” Katherine asked, her curiosity sharpened by the odd, lingering scent and Luna’s reaction. Her voice was gentle, inviting honesty.

  “I—I… um, I make potions,” the woman stammered, shrinking into her scarf. “Sometimes I experiment. I made a batch with ingredients that… well, they can be agitators for most creatures. I didn’t realize it would be so strong.” Her voice was thin, apologetic, each word wrapped in uncertainty.

  Katherine nodded, absorbing the confession. “What about creatures with scales? Could it bother them too, or is it mostly furry creatures?”

  The woman’s brow furrowed, lips pursing as she considered. “I… I don’t think so,” she said at last, though doubt flickered in her eyes. “I’m not sure. I haven’t tested it on scaled ones—sorry.” Her response was honest, her uncertainty plain, but she met Katherine’s eyes with vulnerable sincerity.

  Katherine offered a reassuring smile. “Thank you. Shade, could you fetch Sparky? Luna might appreciate some company right now.”

  Shade disappeared into the far corridor, his silhouette melting into shadow. He returned moments later, padding alongside Sparky, whose gleaming scales looked a bit muted in the flickering glowstone light. Katherine scooped Sparky gently onto her shoulder, feeling the comforting weight settle against her neck. Shade lingered for a moment longer, his gaze flicking between Katherine and Sparky. Sensing that his protective presence was no longer needed, he exhaled a quiet sigh and retreated, seeking a place to curl up and watch from a distance, ready to return if called. The air shifted, the unsettling scent still lingering, but with Sparky’s arrival and Luna’s cautious return, the tension eased just slightly, and Katherine felt a sense of quiet resolve building with her familiars by her side.

  “How many familiars do you have?” the woman asked, her tone tinged with worry.

  “Three—the two panthers who apparently don’t like the scent of work, and this little guy,” Katherine replied, scratching Sparky on the breast as a couple of scales painlessly fell off.

  Sparky let out a small trill and flapped his wings in approval at Katherine. Enjoying the attention, he took off and landed on the woman’s shoulder, sniffing her curiously. The woman’s eyes widened with worry, and she unconsciously brushed her hand over her arm as goosebumps rose and her hair began to stand on end.

  ‘She smells funny, kind of like Snack-stealer and Nest-warmer,’ Sparky remarked telepathically.

  ‘Sparky, don’t be rude,’ Katherine chided, taking him back and making the woman look more comfortable.

  ‘Why? She can’t hear us.’ Sparky pointed out.

  Katherine gave Sparky a side look that promised she would explain later. Turning to the alchemist, she said, “Sorry about my familiars, they tend not to think about the people around them. My name is Katherine, what’s yours?”

  “Sage…Ulfric,” the woman replied, glancing uncertainly at Katherine. Her fingers fidgeted at her side, betraying her hesitation about sharing her surname since Katherine hadn’t offered hers. She pointed toward the official who was making his way toward the group. “I think our test is about to be explained.”

  The official pulled a stone from his pocket and placed it near his throat, somehow amplifying the volume of his voice. “Today you will be tested on whether you will gain entry into the adventurer’s guild. As you have already been split into groups, this is what will happen. The moderators with your groups will not be testing you,” the official explained, prompting a few murmurs. “We have sent word to other branches of the guild to act on behalf of this one. You will use the teleportation circle within the guild and do your assessment there. The local branch will give you different proctors, as the ones with your groups currently will only be there to act as a wall of ethical safety. The guild that will do your assessment will do so to make sure things are fair and no one is getting special treatment based on status.”

  Katherine’s face grew warmer as she felt the official’s eyes fall on her, and she realized he might be talking about her.

  …

  After a jarring teleportation and a quick detour to the nearest trash can to settle her churning stomach, Katherine gathered herself and set off toward her assessment.

  They needed to complete a series of contracts—some formal, others informal—where time was often against the victim. The guild branch assigned to Katherine’s group was tucked away at a rarely used outpost, deep in the Lupine Peninsula on the edge of the Wynford Duchy. The forest here was dense, shadows pooling beneath ancient trees, and the air hummed with the rustle of leaves and the distant calls of unseen creatures. Every breath carried the earthy scent of moss and wildflowers, mixed with the sharper tang of unfamiliar spices drifting on the wind.

  Acting as one of the team’s frontliners—a role that suited her pugilist skills—Katherine kept a watchful eye ahead. She sent Sparky soaring above to keep an aerial lookout, warning him not to drift too far from the group’s protective circle.

  Sage, it turned out, had some knowledge of the region. She spoke up, though with caution, letting the group know her memory might be patchy since it had been a few years since she last visited. The group pressed on, boots crunching through thick undergrowth, until they encountered a lone figure—one of the peninsula’s tribesmen.

  “Onkaan.” The tribesman’s deep, guttural greeting echoed through the trees. His stance was broad and imposing, hair braided with beads and feathers, his cloak little more than animal pelts stitched together. The language was rough, almost primal, and the sudden aggression in his voice made Sage instinctively shrink back, her breath catching.

  “Sage, what is going on? Who is that?” Katherine asked, her brow furrowed in confusion as she glanced between her teammate and the intimidating stranger.

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  Sage hesitated, memories of past encounters with her people flickering in her mind. Her hands trembled slightly as she mustered the courage to respond. “It’s a long story,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Then, swallowing her anxiety, she addressed the tribesman directly. “Onkaan no-kaarn, korr mish. Ghhaan zunta thaar kaarn, aruu draal,” she said, showing the guild’s temporary identification badge as proof. Though her accent at the guild had been awkward, in this moment her words flowed with the ease of a native speaker—her tone pleading, vulnerable.

  A spark of recognition flashed in the tribesman’s eyes, but his expression quickly soured as the wind shifted, bringing the strangers’ scents to him. He stepped closer to Sage, nostrils flaring, and spat on the ground near her feet. “Noorak,” he snarled, his voice thick with resentment, the word falling from his lips like a curse.

  Sage’s shoulders sagged. “Sage Onkaan Kaarn,” she replied, lightly thumping her chest with a trembling fist—almost apologetic, as if trying to explain herself to both the tribesman and her new companions.

  Katherine’s confusion deepened as she glanced at the rest of the group, searching for answers. “Can anyone explain what is going on?” she asked, uncertainty clear in her voice as tension radiated between Sage and the tribesman.

  Their guide and test proctor stepped forward, his eyes flicking between Sage and the tribesman. “It seems your healer knows Moontongue,” he said. “Given the accuracy of her words, I’m not surprised.”

  “Why would that be surprising?” Katherine pressed, puzzled. This was the first language she had encountered that resisted magical translation.

  Edwin, the other frontliner, explained, “Generally, only the nomadic tribespeople use it. Their communities are pretty isolated and very... let’s say, group-oriented.”

  Devrin, the archer, spoke up. “Nothing dangerous, just that ‘good of the tribe’ mentality you see in veteran adventuring teams.” He paused, casting a glance at Sage. “Though, judging by how timid she’s been, I doubt she’s really one of them. If she was, she’d act more aggressive—at least a little.”

  Sensing the situation spiraling, their moderator interjected, voice firm but calm. “Alright, I better step in—this could get ugly quick.” He moved forward, ready to intervene as it became clear that, no matter how much Sage tried to deescalate, the tension between her and the tribesman threatened to erupt into violence.

  …

  Apparently, the person supposedly conducting the assessment was not a as fluent on Moontongue as Sage, but the situation was mitigated for now as they were led to the tribal elder. Who also didn’t like Sage’s presence.

  “No-zunta,” he had laughed, strangely like he’s heard it before and didn’t believe it. “Thuuna horgh, Thuuna zunta.” He gestured to the group, before singling out Sage. “Thuun shaarr, shaarr vren.”

  Sage looked almost in tears, trying to keep her composure. As she acted as translator, as well as trying to be a polite, but unwanted guest. Her posture though of one trying to make herself smaller, but it was oddly tense: hands and jaw clenched, biting the inside of her cheek. Inside the makeshift tent Sage, although using Moontongue and trying to act less than leader. Katherine saw the way she was standing almost like she was waiting for something.

  Sparky now, resting on Katherine’s shoulder as his ‘sky flappers were tired. Being so close to Katherine, he could feel her shaking trying to be diplomatic as the leader of the tribe being an instigator trying to provoke some kind of reaction.

  The person conducting the assessment was less fluent in Moontongue than Sage, but for now the situation was under control as the group was brought before the tribal elder—who, like the others, clearly disliked Sage’s presence.

  “No-zunta,” the elder laughed, as if he’d heard the claim before and didn’t believe it. “Thuuna horgh, Thuuna zunta.” He gestured to the entire group, then pointed directly at Sage. “Thuun shaarr, shaarr vren.”

  Sage was on the verge of tears, her voice trembling as she translated the elder’s words for the group. Each phrase seemed to cost her effort, and she gripped her hands tightly in her lap to keep them from shaking. She acted as both translator and a polite—though unwanted—guest. Her posture was tense; she tried to make herself smaller, but her hands and jaw were clenched as she bit the inside of her cheek.

  While Sage struggled to maintain her composure, Katherine observed the tension in her friend’s posture. Sparky, perched on Katherine’s shoulder with his wings drooping in exhaustion, could feel her trembling as she tried to remain diplomatic. Meanwhile, the tribal leader’s tone and gestures grew more pointed, as if he wanted to provoke a reaction from Sage or the group.

  …

  Sage fought to hold back tears—not because of the elder’s hostility, but because she was struggling to keep a deeply hidden part of herself from surfacing. The words she spoke aloud—“I no want to be with pack, pack not my pack”—were only half-truths, meant to keep others at a distance and protect her secret. Hold yourself together. Don’t let them see. She repeated the mantra in her mind, her jaw aching from how tightly she clenched it. A low, involuntary growl rumbled in her throat, and she hoped no one noticed.

  The scent of so many people crowded together was overwhelming. It pulled at the feral instincts Sage was desperate to repress—a side of her she tried to bury, one that threatened to break free whenever she felt trapped or threatened.

  “I need some air,” Sage said abruptly, her voice tight. Without waiting for a response, she slipped outside the tent, the cooler air a sudden relief against her burning skin. For a moment, she could breathe again.

  As she drew several shaky breaths, something brushed against her leg. You smell different, and it’s not just herbs. The thought was so clear in her mind she almost flinched. Sage turned and found herself face-to-face with a large silver cat—Katherine’s familiar, Luna, if Katherine’s descriptions were accurate.

  Katherine had always explained Luna’s presence to the team so they wouldn’t be startled if the familiar appeared. Still, Sage’s heart pounded: she knew Luna sensed more than most.

  “How are you talking to me?” Sage whispered, uncertainty and fear coloring her voice. She darted a glance around, hoping no one else could hear.

  I may look like a cat, but you understand me because we share a secret language, Luna’s voice echoed in Sage’s thoughts, her tone sly with an undercurrent of warning. You feel it, don’t you? That restless whisper inside. The part you’re hiding, the one that wants to break free. You can’t lock it away forever. Luna’s tail flicked, and she let out a soft, pointed growl—a reminder that Sage’s secret was not as safe as she’d hoped.

  “Luna, leave her alone.” Katherine’s voice cut through the tension. She stepped outside, her posture tense and her brow furrowed with concern as she looked from Luna to Sage. “She doesn’t need you prying into her thoughts right now. Go home. I’ll come find you and Shade when we make camp tonight.”

  Luna hesitated, her ears flicking back in annoyance, but with a last glance at Sage, she melted into the shadows, her departure marked by a faint, disgruntled chuff only Katherine seemed to understand.

  “Sorry about her,” Katherine said gently, approaching Sage with careful steps, hands open at her sides to show she meant no harm.

  “Please—don’t come closer,” Sage said, extending a trembling hand as a barrier. She fished a small jar of dried flowers from her satchel, inhaled their calming scent, and closed the lid, her breathing gradually steadying. “Okay, it’s safe now. Just curious—where did you send your familiar?”

  “The ducal estate. That’s where I usually work and live,” Katherine replied, trying to sound casual, though she watched Sage with worried eyes and a tentative smile.

  Sage blinked in surprise. “So, you’re saying I might be talking to someone who regularly speaks with nobility?”

  Katherine shrugged, her tone light but her gaze gentle. “Only on a technicality. I’m friends with the duke’s daughter, but that’s not why I’m here, in the middle of a tribe where I can barely communicate.” She paused, then asked softly, “So, how long has it been since you left this tribe?”

  The question made Sage tense, her whole body going rigid.

  “It’s okay, you don’t have to answer,” Katherine said, her voice kind but also quietly insistent, as if she hoped Sage would trust her. “But… was this your tribe?” The concern in her eyes made it clear she was asking for the team’s safety as much as for Sage’s sake.

  Sage hugged her arms around herself, her voice barely above a whisper. “This isn’t my tribe. I don’t belong here. I don’t act like they do, or even smell like them anymore.” Her words trembled with uncertainty, as if she was trying to convince herself as much as Katherine.

  Katherine’s brow furrowed as she caught the avoidance. “That’s not exactly what I asked, Sage,” she said, her tone gentle but direct, not letting Sage slip past the real question.

  Sage’s lips quirked in a faint, dry smile. “I noticed,” she replied quietly, unwilling to give anything more.

  Katherine released a slow breath, feigning exasperation to lighten the tension. “Alright, thank god the Geneva Suggestions aren’t enforced here,” she muttered, resting a hand on Sage’s shoulder. The healer tensed at the touch, not understanding the reference but catching the serious glint in Katherine’s eyes—a look that reminded Sage of the tribe the day she left.

  “No,” Sage said quickly, shaking her head and stepping away. Although Katherine had always seemed fair, her familiars’ behavior suggested deeper instincts at work—ones that unsettled Sage. The fact that Luna had crossed untold distances, moving through shadows to find her, was proof enough that Luna, and by extension Katherine, needed answers. Luna’s journey wasn’t just about curiosity; it was a test of loyalty and perhaps a warning that Sage’s secret was running out of places to hide.

  Sparky disrupted the moment, pawing through Sage’s things the instant Katherine called him back. He was always after her supplies—odd trinkets, herbs, anything he could snatch in a blink. Katherine intervened before he could get away with anything, but Sparky’s presence was hard to miss: his scent lingered, and his sneezes cracked through the air like nearby thunder, making Sage’s ears ring.

  Katherine herself was harder to read. Sage had learned that when Katherine said something offhand or strange, it meant she was calculating her next move. There was something primal in Katherine, a strength that came from her connection to her familiars. Whether it was a skill, a kind of magic, or just sheer willpower, it pressed on Sage’s own instincts—the ones she’d tried to bury since leaving her tribe.

  Sage drew a sharp breath, steadying herself. “Katherine, you need to understand. The tribes follow a strict code. If either side breaks it, no tribe will ever help us again.” Her tone was firm, layered with warning. “If they ask for clothing as part of a deal, you must hold up your end. If you break faith, the tribe will track down every last one of us until we’re with the moon.”

  Katherine hesitated, weighing Sage’s words. To her, “with the moon” sounded like a strange idiom—but the cold certainty in Sage’s eyes made the meaning clear: the tribe would hunt them to the end.

  “We’ll do our best,” Katherine said, her pragmatism surfacing through the tension. “But since we’re new to this and barely speak the language, ‘our best’ might not be good enough.” She shot a glare over her shoulder. “Sparky, leave that alone before you get us both in trouble.”

  Sparky tried once more to nose his way into Sage’s bag. All Sage heard was a chaotic chorus of whines, trills, and the startling crack of thunder—Sparky’s signature sneeze—while Katherine scrambled to corral him, her frustration as obvious as the storm inside Sage.

  …

  Katherine observed Sage from across the camp, noting how she sat apart from the group, quietly eating her own meal. They were miles away from the tribe now, out on a hunt, but Sage remained distant, picking through a handful of nuts and berries from her bag while the others shared strips of jerky or magical equivalents. When she offered a nut to Sparky, he sniffed it with obvious disappointment, as if still hoping for something meatier. Katherine wondered if Sage missed the familiar comforts of her former life, or if she’d ever really felt at home anywhere. The question burned at the edge of her mind, but she kept it to herself, feeling the weight of their new, uncertain alliance.

  Remembering her promise to Luna, Katherine waited until camp settled. Then she slipped through a fire-shadow—her own private corridor between worlds—and soon returned with her two familiars. Luna and Shade settled in quietly, eating from bowls Katherine had prepared: a generous mound of meat dusted with something finer than ash, and a separate bowl of water. The sight of them brought a strange comfort, but also a pang of guilt. She couldn’t forget that Shade’s injuries had come from her choices too.

  After a moment, Katherine carried her own meal over and sat beside Sage. She tried to sound casual, hoping to bridge the distance. “I take it your diet wasn’t exactly catered to while you lived with the tribe?”

  Sage’s fingers paused over her food. Instead of answering, she deflected. “I thought your familiars would prefer to eat back at the manor.” She kept her eyes on the fire, the orange light tracing the tension in her jaw. Katherine recognized Sage’s dodge—she’d seen it before, a subtle tightening of the shoulders, the smallest edge of caution in her posture. It struck Katherine how much effort it took for Sage just to maintain these boundaries, and she wondered what it might cost to cross them.

  Katherine nodded, accepting the change in subject. “I would agree,” she said, voice softer now. “But Shade hasn’t had the chance—or maybe the desire—to hunt since he was hurt on that last hunt. Luna needed a change of scenery too.” Her gaze wandered to her familiars, the memory of Shade’s pain flickering through her mind. She felt a twist of remorse—she’d pushed them all hard, and some wounds ran deeper than scars.

  Sage followed Katherine’s glance and watched the black panther—nearly invisible in the shadows—waiting patiently for his share as Luna devoured her meal. Sage’s voice dropped to a quiet murmur, edged with empathy. “Is that why Shade has all those scars?”

  “Yeah. He got most of them as a cub,” Katherine replied, her tone touched with regret. “It was a lesson he needed—he’d only ever hunted animals he could easily catch: Bramble Hares, Mossback Pheasants, nothing that fought back. But then he tried to take down something far more dangerous.” She managed a faint, bittersweet smile, the image vivid in her memory.

  Sage frowned gently. “Those little creatures wouldn’t leave scars like that,” she observed, her voice touched by understanding.

  “No, not them,” Katherine agreed. She extended her hand and conjured a shimmering illusion—a hand-sized model of a lesser forest drake, its scales catching the firelight. “He went after one of these. We barely made it out alive. The scars are a reminder.” Katherine’s eyes lingered on Sage, searching for recognition, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them and the hush of the fire.

  Sage lowered her gaze. The fire’s glow reflected in her eyes, turning the gray depths glassy and distant. For a heartbeat, Katherine thought she saw something animal—like the silent watchfulness she’d seen in Shade and Luna, and once long ago in Max, the family dog. Sage’s expression became unreadable, as though she’d retreated behind a mask. Katherine hesitated, unsure if she should ask about it, and the question faded before she could speak.

  Katherine finally broke the silence, gentling her voice. “I know we’re not perfect companions, but why did you choose to be here with us?” She didn’t intend for it to sound confrontational, but even in the rough, guttural cadence of moontongue, the question came out sharper than she meant. Sage, though, just seemed tired—more wary than defensive.

  “Not everyone needs claws,” Sage replied. There was a gentle, almost apologetic rhythm to her words, and Katherine realized that Sage might have thought she was being judged for her reluctance to fight.

  “I agree,” Katherine said quietly. A small, rueful smile flickered on her lips. “And that’s coming from someone who knows the darker side of society’s nature.” She hesitated, then added, “I’m only asking because… you never seem comfortable here, and I noticed.”

  “I get that a lot,” Sage admitted, her eyes showing that same glazed reflection as before only for a second. “Even from my master, and he was the one who recommend I become an adventurer.”

  “Your ‘master’?” Katherine questioned, hoping it was more like the relationship between her and Roland, and not something more malevolent.

  “I’ve been training to be an alchemist. Brewing potions and stuff like that,” Sage explained. Katherine let out a sigh as Sage continued. “As I knew healers where in demand I tried to become a priestess at first, but the incense bothers my nose.”

  “I would imagine that the herbs would do the same thing,” Katherine pointed out.

  “Generally, speaking you would be right,” Sage agreed, she pointed to the fire that the makeshift team of adventurer’s had made before the sun had gone down. “It wasn’t the incense themselves; it was them burning that bothers me.”

  Now Katherine had a better sense of why Sage had secluded herself. It was the fire, or more accurately the smoke. “How did you stay warm at night with the tribe?”

  “They have heating stones, and our bodies tend to make more heat than a human or elf.” Sage explained. “Although those tend to be for the children as they can’t really control themselves, until they reach a certain age.”

  Katherine felt like Sage was talking around something, but didn’t want to press her on it. She was willing to be patient especially since they didn’t know each other well.

  After a moment of silence Sage spoke. “I know this is going to sound odd, but can I smell you?”