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in the shadow of the sky
leareth meets serg in post mage wars valdemar
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For a long ti– no, not time, time is the wrong word entirely – there is nothing. Silent, colored swirls of nothing, seen from the hollow shelter of a deeper nothing. Somewhere else, sensed at a great distance through a web of power that crosses the nothingness, time passes.

The thing-that-watches is folded up and small. There are no thoughts except, wait. watch. not yet.

In another place, a tendril of power twangs, and the web echoes. Now?

...

Lionstar k'Leshya swears under his breath as his tunic catches on the rough bark. Stupid tree. Stupid rain. He twists to free himself, shoves aside a wet branch that returns the gesture by smacking him in the face, and tosses the last armful of branches onto his meager pile.

The new kindling is just as damp as the rest. Fortunately, Lionstar has options other than the flint-and-steel in his pocket. He squats by the heap and reaches out, focusing. He hasn't, technically, ever attempted this spell before–

...

Now.

The hollow nothingness turns inside out, and the everything-else rushes in. The thing-that-watches – he had a name, before, what was it – he unfolds, stretches out, grasps at his new surroundings. Where am I? What– 

Something is screaming very loudly, not in his ear but substantially closer. Instinctively, he clamps down on it, and a tiny fraction of the storm quiets. The rest is – he seems to be in a body, but all wrong. Too loud after the peaceful nothing, and he doesn't know where or what, but finally, as he seizes control of a big enough corner for thought, he has a guess at how

His name was Ma'ar, before, and he remembers dying. His first re-embodied emotion that isn't panic is satisfaction. It worked. 

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The trees and the rain and the small creatures of the forest all go about their business with no thought to the struggle taking place by the unlit campfire. A bird takes off from a branch, jostling its leaves, which in turn dump a shower of cold water onto what has up until this point been Lionstar k'Leshya's head.

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Satisfaction quickly turns to frustration. Minutes or hours pass before Lionstar-formerly-known-as-Ma'ar finds himself capable of rolling over on the wet ground and, eventually, sitting up. Time to take inventory – or try, anyway, the mental screaming that belonged to someone else is now thoroughly and permanently silenced, but he doesn't exactly feel in control. 

His resources include: one teenage body, in possession of what seems to be a powerful but untrained Mage-Gift. The easily accessible memories-that-aren't-his consist mainly of simmering anger toward various unknown adult figures, and swearwords in a dialect of the Kaled'a'in language – interesting, perhaps a hint to his location, except that Lionstar doesn't seem to know where his homeland is in relation to Tantara much less Predain. Figuring out the details of Lionstar's familial situation from the confusing tangle of memory-threads is beyond him for now, but he ascertains that nobody is likely to notice his disappearance for several days. 

His new teenage-runaway host is woefully unprepared for a forest expedition. Lionstar seems not to have thought to bring water, or food, or particularly waterproof clothing–

Thinking becomes difficult at this point, as his new body sends a barrage of increasingly unpleasant and distracting sensations. 

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Some of those sensations are the sound of someone tromping through the forest nearby, headed in his direction.

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Lionstar scrambles to his feet toward the sound, flings his half-controlled power in a wide arc that sets half a dozen trees on fire, and then promptly trips and falls over. 

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A sound that might be laughter, and some words in an unknown language, and then in thickly accented Kaled'a'in, "Peace! I no harm!"

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Lionstar considers throwing more fire at the voice until it stops talking, just for simplicity, but his head is throbbing from the fall. Besides, an apparently-benevolent stranger – based on the accent, unlikely to be a local who will recognize Lionstar – could be a useful resource. If he's lucky, the stranger might even have a map. 

He sits up, hands braced on the wet leaves, and decides against standing. "Who is there?" he calls out. 

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"Sakshemar!"

He emerges from between two burning trees, patting out a smouldering sleeve, with a wry smile that suggests he probably isn't mad about it. He can't be much older than Lionstar's body, and might be younger by a year or two; the cut of his clothes and the cast of his face are as unfamiliar as the language he tried first. He looks only slightly better equipped for a jaunt through the forest.

"I look for gryphon people. I hear you loud. I go help."

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Lionstar is fairly sure that he didn't start making noise until after the footsteps, which he adds to a growing stack of notes-of-confusion, along with a wistful longing for pen and paper. 'Gryphon people' lines up with his having fallen among the Kaled'a'in. Not, on reflection, a place where he wants his true identity known, and he very much hopes not to run into any actual gryphons. A cover story of some kind would be a very good thing to have – later, add to the list, right now he needs to come up with a response, if he stares blankly much longer the stranger is going to think he's a simpleton. 

He tries to compose his face, ignoring his racing heart and the fact that he seems to be shaking, he can't tell whether from cold or stress. "Thank you," he says, as politely as he can. "You...are from somewhere else, then? What brings you to seek the Kaled'a'in?"

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He frowns a frown of insufficient vocabulary.

"I from Haighlei," he says. "I hear gryphon people different. Haighlei nowhere different from Haighlei. Maybe gryphon people better. Maybe wet forest better. Maybe you better! You name?"

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He thinks for a few seconds, but stalling on giving a name will become awkward fast, and he can't see a specific way it could go wrong. 

"Lionstar." He can't be Ma'ar here, and he likes the name that comes with this body well enough. "I'm, er, pleased to meet you." This Sakshemar of the Haighlei people – which he has no recollection of, and he doesn't think his memories are that addled – seems motivated to be helpful. He really needs a plan for how to use that to his advantage. 

Lionstar attempts a self-deprecating smile. "I ran away. Thought the wet forest might be better. I am not sure that it is, although it has its merits." Relating to people was never his strength, and he's not exactly at his wittiest right now, but he's had practice. "What did you hate about your homeland, then?"

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"Lionstar," he repeats, taking unprecedented care with the foreign sounds. "Pleased meet you."

And then the question.

"Haighlei..." He trails off, frowning, making small movements with his hands as though physically grasping for words. "Things," he says eventually, giving up on the specifics. "In Haighlei, people have things, people take. I have, I want keep. So, here now. In wet forest, maybe wet lion eat me, but I keep things."

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That is...almost infuriatingly vague, but he doesn't think that Sakshemar intends it – his best guess is that it really is just a language barrier, and not deliberate obfuscation. And it's not like he can afford to be choosy about his allies, given the circumstances. 

"I am sorry," he says. "I promise not to take your things." Though if Sakeshemar has valuable possessions, Lionstar doesn't know where he's keeping them. "Besides," he adds, "I am a mage." He gestures at the blackened trees. "I ought to be able to keep any lions away, wet or otherwise." Lionstar's stomach interrupts with a growl, and he frowns. "Although, if you have anything to eat, that is something I lack." 

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"Ah! Food!"

He nods, smiles, and shrugs off his pack, which proves to be stuffed with smoked meat. If there are any other supplies in there, they're buried underneath it all. He cheerfully offers some to Lionstar.

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"You came prepared." It would be undignified to look as excited about the food as he feels. "Are you cold? I can light a fire – I was beginning when you arrived and distracted me." He gestures at the now-very-wet firewood. "And then I suppose we ought to decide whether to camp here, or to try to go elsewhere. I...would prefer not to return the way I came." 

And meanwhile, he badly needs an actual plan. There are a lot of questions occurring to him that he can't find a non-suspicious way to ask, such as 'which way from here to the Citadel of Predain' and 'how many years ago did the war end', because apparently the former inhabitant of this body never paid attention to his lessons. 

(Lionstar is trying not to think about the end of the war. The memories are foggy, but not that foggy. He's fairly sure Urtho is dead. Blame is a messy concept, but he knows that certain of his choices were causally involved. He's pretty sure that Urtho's countermeasures against him caused a spectacular amount of destruction, although maybe not as bad as it could have been, the forest here doesn't look so bad. Either way, though, it's starting to sink in that everything he had is gone, including the only person who he could have truly called a friend, and this is, technically, his fault.) 

"When did you find out that the gryphon people were here?" he asks. 

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"Eclipse," he says, immediately and assuredly. Why that word merits a spot in his heavily restricted vocabulary is anybody's guess. And, with a firm nod, "Fire yes. Wet forest very cold."

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Lionstar nods and lights the fire. Or tries. He's still getting accustomed to his new body and Gifts, and it's a struggle. He tries not to feel embarrassed, it isn't a productive response, but it turns out that a recently-borrowed teenage boy's mind has a number of thought-patterns that pull toward embarrassment. 

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Sakshemar smiles reassuringly.

"Fire things hard?"

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"I am unpracticed," Lionstar admits. "It will go better the next time. In any case, now we have a fire." The magic feels a lot more draining than he expected, maybe because he's inefficient at it, or possibly just that it's getting to the end of a very, very long day. "I think...I will sit down now."

He's glad to have run into Sakshemar, because he isn't sure whether all the willpower in the world can keep him awake much longer. 

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"Eat food," he advises, handing Lionstar another bit of smoked meat. "Sit, rest. I stay. No wet lions eat you."

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Lionstar spends several moments trying to decide if he can afford to trust a near-stranger with his life, before realizing that the decision is going to be made for him very soon. 

"Thank you," he says, folding down in front of the fire. "I really need some sleep." Taking over a new body is exhausting, it seems. His head is buzzing. "Please wake me when you are tired and I can keep watch."

Then he applies his full effort to the chunk of smoked meat, hoping to cram in some nourishment before he involuntarily dozes off. 

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If any wet lions approach during the night, Sakshemar handles them quietly.

It's not long before dawn, a generous interval indeed for Lionstar to rest in, when Sakshemar leans toward him and quietly calls his name.

There's a small cooking pot sitting by the fire; it seems he's transformed some of his abundant rations into a respectable, if plain, meat stew.

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Lionstar mumbles out his thanks and stands, trying to shake off the grogginess. His dreams have been, unsurprisingly, very odd.

Waiting for the sunrise, he goes through his memories, which are even less clear now. He tries out a dozen minor but increasingly complex spells, relieved to find that each attempt is smoother. He considers his options, such as they are. 

He tries not to think about Urtho. 

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Sakshemar finishes his share of breakfast and then curls up by the fire and goes to sleep.

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Lionstar throws another log on the fire, and begins his third attempt at an illusion-spell. It isn't going well, and he has a headache. 

Somewhere nearby, a twig breaks. 

Lionstar spins around, flinging up a shield – thankfully, the second spell he drilled, after fire – as a dark shape slinks out of the trees. 

The creature doesn't look like anything natural. Its hide is too smooth, its neck too long, the greyhound-like body uncannily stretched. Half a second later, a second appears. 

Wyrsa. He recognizes the creature from his past. Some long-dead Adept's attempt at a Master Working, and even before the war and his...death...they roamed the woods wild. These ones look different, though, larger, their hides a deeper light-swallowing black. 

"Saksh–" he starts to scream, just before the first of the wyrsa leaps and, to his horror, seems to drink his shield whole. 

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He startles awake, blinks at the scene, and then all in one motion the knife attached to his pack is out of its sheath and in his hand and sinking into the wyrsa's shoulder as he tackles it away from Lionstar.

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Lionstar finds himself on his bottom in the dirt. Again. And...exhausted. Whatever the wyrsa did to his spell, it seems to have gotten some of him as well. His vision wavers. 

In the corner of his mind not filled with alarm, he's quietly impressed. He's seen plenty of trained soldiers who don't react so quickly, especially not when woken from a sound sleep. 

"Look out there's another one–" he gasps out. 

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He's pretty thoroughly occupied just dealing with the first.

The second leaps onto his back—there's a fast-paced violent scuffle, blood, snarling, a few very unpleasant cracking sounds—one wyrsa is down with a broken foreleg and his knife in its throat, but that leaves him wrestling unarmed with the other—

And this looks like it might go very badly for him, right up until he grabs the wyrsa's snaky neck with both hands and its head is abruptly engulfed in flames.

It struggles for a few more seconds, then goes still. Sakshemar, panting, shoves it aside and looks around for more. His control of the fire was sloppy; his fingers are singed, and a stray tongue of flame scorched the closest tree, although the bark was too wet to catch.

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What.

Lionstar cautiously sits up, glancing around. No more wyrsa are apparent, so he turns to Sakshemar.

You could have told me sooner you were a mage, he wants to say, only it isn’t mage-gift, he would have sensed it. It’s...something else.

”Are you hurt?” he says instead. “That was...very impressive. And, thank you.”

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He inspects himself for damage, rubbing his singed fingertips and poking at a couple of bleeding scratches on his upper arm, then shrugs. "No bad hurt," he concludes. And, surveying the dead wyrsa with a soft snort of tired amusement, "Wet lions good hunt. What is them?"

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"They are called wyrsa," Lionstar explains. "A magically created race – although I have not seen this kind, before. What they did to my spell–" He stops, takes a deep breath. Now, after the fact, his body is making a belated bid for panic. "They seem to eat magic," he finishes. "You were much better placed to fight than I. I...am afraid I may not be good for much, today. My reserves of power are drained." A difficult admission, but somehow he finds it easier with Sakshemar. 

He shrugs. "Good hunt or not, I would not recommend we eat them. Magic-twisted creatures are not necessarily healthy." 

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He nods acknowledgment, of both Leareth's condition and his recommendation about not eating the wyrsa.

And: "Things," he says, gesturing at the second wyrsa's charred head. "Fire things. Different from magic. I have."

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Ohhhh. Several points of confusion fall into clarity. 

"Things," Lionstar repeats. "That your people would take from you, and you wish to keep. You meant a Gift. You have a Gift for fire-use, but not mage-gift, something different. And your people have a way of...shutting down Gifts?" He's heard of such abilities, but can't recall learning any actual technique, and he doesn't think his memory loss was that bad. "Do you have other Gifts as well?" 

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He nods.

"Other things—Gifts—but," a grasping gesture, a helpless shrug, "no words. Hard say."

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Lionstar nods, and starts mentally going through the list of known Gifts. "Can you move things just by thinking about it? Can you see things far away without being there? Or see things happen in the future? Can you read thoughts, or speak thoughts into a person's mind?" Unlikely, or communication would be a lot easier right now. "Can you tell how people are feeling, or make them feel a certain way? Can you heal illness and wounds, in people or in animals?"

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He shakes his head slightly at each of these, until Lionstar gets to 'tell how people are feeling' and then he makes a 'yes, that one' sort of face.

"I hear you loud feeling," he explains. "You feeling very loud, before."

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Oh no. Sakshemar could hear his brief, doomed mental battle with the former inhabitant of his current body? Lionstar can't begin to imagine what his friend – a mental stumble, no, Sakshemar is his ally and, after the wyrsa incident, coming to feel more and more like a friend – he has no idea what Sakshemar must think. And no way of checking, because in this body he doesn't have a sniff of Thoughtsensing.

He needs a cover story, now, before Sakshemar becomes any more suspicious than he already is, but he can't think of a neat explanation either, not one that will definitely hold up when he isn't sure exactly what Sakshemar sensed or in how much detail. And, to his own surprise, he finds himself uncomfortable at the prospect of lying. 

"I was upset," he allows, and waits. 

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"Yes," he agrees, and shrugs slightly. "Is not," word-seeking gesture, "I," another, more frustrated, word-seeking gesture, "...mmph." He shakes his head and starts over. "You say, good, you no say, good. All good."

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Lionstar chews on that for a minute, with building sympathy for Sakshemar’s frustration at the language barrier.

Lionstar wants to tell Sakshemar. It’s...sort of shocking, how badly he wants to tell someone that I was your villain from the war, they teach schoolchildren about my war crimes, and before all of this I cast a spell in the Void to bring my spirit back from the dead, and I just murdered a kid and made his body mine and now here I am. He’s killed before, hand-to-hand or from a sterile distance, Ma’ar was hardly squeamish about death - but until now he’s never eaten a teenager from the inside so he can wear their skin. It shouldn’t bother him, he learned a long time ago to weigh that trade and accept collateral damage, and yet. 

He’s stranded in a forest who-knows-where with no armies or sealed citadels full of ancient tomes and mage-artifacts. He’s alive, it’s time to study his mistakes and start over, but it’s such an overwhelmingly long road ahead and he has so little. Only a fellow runaway from a strange land who just fought off a pair of wyrsa for him, and it would mean so much to have a true ally here. Someone who would understand the why, and help him build the how, and damn it all but he wants to believe Sakshemar can be that kind of friend.

Wanting to believe isn’t the same as knowing, though. He can’t afford wishful thinking.

Lionstar shakes his head. “Thank you. I would prefer not to speak of it now.” He shrugs. “Anyway. Maybe I could teach you some more Kaled’a’in words today?”

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A wry smile, a nod. "Words, yes. Good."

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And so they work on vocabulary. They start with easy words, the sorts of things that Lionstar can point at or, after that runs out, draw pictures of with a stick in the dirt. (Lionstar is, unfortunately, not a particularly talented artist.)

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Sakshemar is not particularly natively talented at languages, but he's highly motivated to learn and pretty clever at generating useful circumlocutions with which to confirm that this or that drawing matches to this or that concept. He offers some words of his own language in return, when it comes up, or to seek their translations; and as the picture of his native vocabulary develops, it starts to look like he's educated, much more so than you might expect from someone who fled his home country with nothing but sturdy practical clothing and a pack of useful supplies. He also turns out to be literate, though not in Kaled'a'in, and willing to attempt to exchange knowledge in that area as well, although he didn't bring anything to write with or on and scratching with a stick in the dirt is a clumsy and imperfect way to demonstrate the shapes of letters.

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Lionstar is pleased by the opportunity to learn another local language, though he really wishes one of them had pen and paper. Lacking any real note-taking method is wearing on him. Perhaps something can be figured out with local plants – tree bark, berries for ink? The former Lionstar apparently failed to pay attention in those lessons as well, though, and Ma'ar was never an expert in wilderness survival.

He's also very curious about Sakshemar's background, but holds back his questions, in case that leads into Sakshemar questioning him. Instead, after the sun crosses the zenith, he suggests that they either build a better shelter, or look for another place to camp. 

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His receptive vocabulary grows much faster than the expressive, but by midday he's still noticeably more fluent than he was the previous night.

"Another place, better," he says. "If you can go that far. Better rested now?"

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"I am rested enough to walk," Lionstar reassures him. "For difficult casting, not so much – that reminds me, I had meant to ask if you wished to practice your fire Gift at some point, perhaps with my assistance." It's clearly a strong Gift, but not especially trained, which fits what he now knows about Sakshemar's homeland. If he's seen it before, he doesn't recall, but he hasn't forgotten everything he knows about pedagogy for Gifts in general. "Anyway. Do you have a place in mind?" 

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He nods thoughtfully at the offer of help practicing with his Gift, and again at the question, but the second nod is much more tentative. "Forest like this not," he pauses, frowns slightly, come on he knows this word he learned it this morning, "—familiar. But I see—saw—place, yesterday, maybe good. Maybe not. We find out?"

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Lionstar agrees with this plan. “Shall we go, then? Oh, and I would prefer we not leave signs of our presence here.” Just in case there are search parties from White Gryphon out looking for Lionstar. Lionstar doesn’t want to be found.

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He nods, and looks wryly at the trees Lionstar scorched the previous night, and then at the two dead wyrsa, one clearly killed with a weapon and the other even more clearly by unnatural means. "Good thought. How do?"

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This presents a non-trivial problem.

”We bury the bodies,” Lionstar decides. He glances at the carpet of damp leaves and forest detritus. “We can cover it convincingly. The trees... Hmm. Perhaps if we find a way to make it resemble a natural fire? I could knock them down, or split one of them in the middle, like a lightning strike would-“

Belatedly, he remembers that throwing around flashy magic isn’t the best idea right now. Aside from his exhaustion, he’s concerned about attracting more of the magic-drinking wyrsa. 

“Ordinarily I could,” he corrects. “Do you have any tools that could accomplish this without magic use?”

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He squints appraisingly at the trees, then shakes his head. "Maybe my fire? But maybe not. My fire..." He gestures self-consciously at his singed fingertips. "More than I want, sometimes. Better practice small, with not trees."

If they're going to bury those wyrsa they're going to need digging implements. He prods the damaged trees until he finds a reasonably sturdy branch whose absence doesn't seem like it would make the scene look any less natural, then snaps it off. He's definitely pretty strong.

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Lionstar’s youthful body isn’t quite as fit as he may have wished, but he can help with digging. Maybe they’ll think of something for the trees in the meantime.

Digging without magic is slow going, though, and the sun is quickly sliding down the horizon.

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"Camp here tonight," he says, when the hole is halfway done and the evening is halfway gone. "This first, then rest. Find other place tomorrow. I do first watch."

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Lionstar is satisfied with this plan. He eats his fill from Sakshemar’s supply of smoked meat, and then curls up by the fire. Physically, he’s tired and sore from the unaccustomed exercise, and frustrated with his out-of-shape body, but his precious reserves of mage-energy are slowly replenishing.

A good thing, because even if he were confident enough to tap nodes or ley-lines in this new body - which he isn’t - there’s little to be had nearby. Maybe thanks to the magic-eating wyrsa, he thinks, and  insiders telling Sakshemar his hypothesis, but he falls asleep first.

 

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Sakshemar finishes burying the wyrsa by himself, and keeps watch until a few hours before dawn, when he wakes Lionstar—to, again, a small pot of stew by way of breakfast— and goes to sleep.

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No wyrsa attack before sunrise.

Lionstar paces around the tiny camp, half planning vocabulary lessons for Sakshemar, half turning over plans for the scorched trees and testing his control with underpowered casting. By the time Sakshemar blinks awake, Lionstar is fairly sure he has both the power and skill to turn the suspicious scorch-marks into a convincing scene of storm-damage.

He’s less sure that major magic use will go unnoticed, though, and says as much when he relays his plan. “We ought to depart as quickly as we can and put some distance behind us,” he suggests. “I think that I can shield our passage. Probably.”

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He nods, finishes gathering up his belongings, shoulders his pack, and looks around the campsite in search of other loose ends. The spot where he was sleeping has a splotch of ash from the campfire; he kicks leaf litter over it.

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Lionstar doesn't have much to pack. He takes care of scattering and then concealing the remains of their firepit, and makes sure the places where the wyrsa are buried are well covered. 

Then he gestures for Sakshemar to stand well back, and concentrates hard. 

Crunch go two of the burnt trees. The central tree splits down the middle with a loud ripping sound. A flock of very startled birds explode out of the underbrush and flutter away.

Lionstar grins, examines his work, and adds a few finishing touches, more splintered branches and strategic scorch-marks. There. It may not hold up to expert examination, but from a few paces back the damage looks natural to his eye at least. It's not very impressive work, for Ma'ar who once commanded an empire, but he's starting from humble beginnings again. Progress. 

"Let's go," he says. 

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"Let's go," Sakshemar agrees.

He leads Lionstar through the forest, setting a respectable but not exhausting pace. He seems unused to walking through trees this dense; he's adjusting pretty well, but every so often he forgets and shifts to a gait more suited to flat open ground, then has to correct himself or snag a foot on a tree root and stumble awkwardly.

A little after midday, they reach an irregular clearing where a rocky overhang shields a fairly sizeable patch of mossy stone from the rain. It looks like it would make for a comfortably dry place to sleep, or to sit and talk, or perhaps even to practice with mysterious fire-Gifts.

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Lionstar approves. He sits down on the moss with relief, and catches his breath. He's been doing a lot of thinking, on the walk, and he doesn't exactly have a plan but he's starting to form a direction-of-approach. First up, he needs to understand Sakshemar better, his motivations, his goals, what he wants – because he's starting to suspect there are depths there. 

"Now that we can communicate better," he says, "I wished to ask you more of your people's attitude toward Gifts. Why, exactly, were you afraid that yours would be taken away – is this how your people respond to all Gifts? It would seem rather shortsighted of them." 

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He sits, too, and takes a moment to think about Leareth's question.

"...words," he starts out. "What word for... person, important, speak to gods, know many things, think important thoughts?"

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"Priest?" Lionstar suggests. "Or oracle – an oracle specifically tells the future, I think, although I think that most of those claims are false." 

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"Priest," he repeats, nodding. "Haighlei priest look for mage-gift child. Child have mage-gift, priest find, take away, teach for priest. Child good, child be priest. Child not good, priest take mage-gift, give child back to family. Everyone know child not good."

Permalink Mark Unread

Lionstar nods, thoughtful. He's not shocked to hear the setup; he's heard of similar things, though minus a reliable ability to shut down already-active Gifts without, it sounds like, causing much additional damage to the child in question. 

"I understand not wished to engage with such a system, but, you are not mage-gifted," he points out. "Do your people not distinguish true mage-gift from your separate Gift for fire-use?" 

Permalink Mark Unread

He shakes his head.

"Don't know what fire-Gift. Fire-Gift... is not know. But—mind Gift—"

He makes the vocabulary face again, then says slowly, "...thing like... truth priest. Don't know if you have. Look for child with mind-Gift. Take. Teach to... not use Gift, only a little, only see truth. If child is... very good, most good, learn things, not use Gift other than see truth, not do any things not good, child be truth priest. If not, truth priest take Gift, give child back."

He shrugs slightly. "My Gifts come late, after priest look. But—have to hide. I... not good child. Priest see I mind-Gift, not try teach. Only take."

Permalink Mark Unread

Lionstar is trying to figure out where even to start.

"Interesting," he says. "Your people have a technique for...lie detection? Using mind-gifts, and highly restricted." He hesitates. "Er, this is perhaps a very awkward question and you need not answer if you prefer, but...is there a particular reason you expected them to conclude that you were insufficiently virtuous for this role?" 

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He shrugs again, with a hint of a wry smile. "I—do things not good. Mm. Words."

A pause while he musters his vocabulary.

"Lion hunt, very important. Important people all there. I go, first time, child. Hunt with father. Father important. Other people—don't know word—people not important, help important person with things—also there, help, carry things. One bring child. Smaller than me. Child take my things—clothes, food, knife. I angry. I try take. Child fight. I better fight. Older, stronger. I take knife. I still angry." He makes a very final slashing motion with his hand. Then he shrugs. "Father say, lion do this. Child not important. Father very important. No people say not truth. No people say find truth priest. I angry for this. I—" Another pause, a frown, struggling with words. "I do this thing. I do this thing. I, not lion. I want truth this. Father want—people look at father, see good man, see have good child, see no things not good." Shrug, again. "Father older, more important. Father have what he want. I not."

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Lionstar would be much better equipped to handle this in his previous body, with a mind that worked reliably and was entirely his. As it is, he blinks at Sakshemar for an awkwardly long time. 

Finally, he bows his head. "First. I am sorry that this happened. I...do understand, why it causes you this pain and frustration. It is not right that it happened – for anybody involved – and it is not right that the response to it was tempered by your father's position and was not fair. Wrong was done, by you and your father both, and by the society around that allowed it. I understand why this troubles you." 

(Lionstar isn't at all sure that he's saying any of the right things. He used to be better at this, although honestly he was never good with this kind of people skills. Something he'll need to remedy – well, the war is already lost and he's stranded in a forest and the one thing he has in abundance is free time.) 

He closes his eyes. "Furthermore. I am also glad that your father chose as he did. Because, had he not, your people's response would have made a terrible situation worse rather than better. I do not think it proportionate to– to burn out a person's Gift for a harm done under provocation when he was a child." He shakes his head. "I am glad you fled and I am glad you are here, because otherwise I would have most definitely been eaten by wyrsa. I am grateful that you are here now and you are my friend." 

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He smiles, a little, and nods. He seems—relieved, maybe, or grateful, something in that genre. "Yes. I—grateful you friend also. Good friend."

But then he takes a breath and wades back into the storytelling, because he has some things to clarify.

"Not only this," he explains. "Other things too. Harder to say. Hard to say why. I... not good. Even with mind-Gift, not good. Angry, some time, hurt people. Other time, other reason. Not good reason. I... mm..."

He spends a minute chewing on his vocabulary, then says, "...I hear you loud, other day, only one time hear more loud feeling. When mind-Gift come. Hurting someone. Looking, seeing—understanding—then feeling, all sudden, very much. Very much feeling, very much hurt. Then—angry, afraid, not understanding, hurting, feeling—fire-Gift come." He makes an explosive gesture with his hands. "Then hear most loud feeling. Then... only fire." A reflective pause. "Truth priest hear that, I think, truth priest take more than Gifts. Take—" that sharp final gesture again "—all. Think I—not good with gods, think I make gods angry."

Another shrug, thoughtful, distant. "Maybe truth this."

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Lionstar has to spend a few moments just trying to piece together what Sakshemar is actually saying, and then a number of moments longer to figure out how he’s meant to feel about it.

Sakshemar evidently - and unsurprisingly - expects him to be upset. Understandable. Most people would be. 

Most people haven’t caused as many thousands of deaths as Ma’ar. Of course, most of those were deliberate, weighing up benefit and cost in service of his plans. But, well, he wouldn’t be here now if he hadn’t made some much, much larger mistakes than an impulsive reaction to TWO strong Gifts awakening at once.

My actions led to the death of the Mage of Silence, he thinks, has any living being ever made a greater miscalculation? 

A quiet, scheming corner of him notes that he can afford to trust Sakshemar substantially more. The admission shows that Sakshemar must trust him, for some bizarre reason - and, well, a tale like that makes for powerful blackmail material.

”You made a mistake,” he says slowly. “A bad mistake. And perhaps you were not always kind, before. Nonetheless. The gods are not the judge of your worth, Sakshemar, nor these truth-priests. Nobody is, because ‘good’ and ‘bad’ are not fundamental qualities.” 

He averts his eyes. It’s too painfully clear that he could just as well be addressing himself. “You had a choice,” he says. “You made a poor one. Now you are here. You have more choices, but only for the future. Not the past. The only change to make is to the you that will make those choices going on. It is only reasonable to fear repeating your mistakes, but.”

He shakes his head. “You do not seem to me, now, like someone who would react in anger and hurt and leave behind destruction. Such a person would not have taken my, er, attack when we met with such calm. So I say, if the gods are angry, let that be their problem. Not ours.”

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...he grins, a little. "Good friend," he says firmly.

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But then his smile fades; he struggles with words, again, trying to convey things more complicated and nuanced than his vocabulary can really support.

"You think I good," he says. "Maybe. But—not truth, I think. And... Truth more important, for me. For friend. Want truth this. I not good. I... when we meet, I hear you loud feeling, I know, I come, know loud feeling, know maybe—" he echoes Lionstar's word, clumsily "—attack. Not—not sudden-know. Know first, know when come. Easy..." He reconsiders, corrects. "More easy, not angry, not fire. Because know first. Harder not angry sudden thing. Harder not fire sudden thing. Maybe not always I this. Maybe other time angry, maybe other time fire, maybe other time hurt someone."

He pauses, thinks over what he's said, frowns a little. "Words," he sighs. "I... you, now, friend. I want not hurt. Important. I try. If angry, try not hurt. Is more—is easier, I think," finally remembering the correct construction of the word, "not hurt friend. Other person, maybe harder. Want truth this. Want you know this. Want—friend, good, but want friend know, want truth. Friend not truth, no good. Friend for..." A sigh of insufficient vocabulary. "You understand? Friend you, but if only friend for good me, if this and if I not good, then not friend, then you think friend but not. So, truth important. So you know. So you friend for truth."

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“I understand,” Lionstar says. “It is...a good warning to have. Thank you for telling the truth.”

Then he needs to stop and think again.

“Most people...would not say that I am good, either.” He leaves it at that. “I do not think that the word they use matters. I care about predictions. And, I do not predict that you will hurt me.” He smiles briefly. “For one, I can shield.”

The smile fades. “Sakshemar, maybe you were no saint, before - maybe a bully, even - but this is not rare, among children. And...has changed, I think?” Sensing the feelings of victims would do that. “Your difficulty now is that you are untrained and lack control of your Gifts. So.” He stands up and offers his hand. “Would you like that I help you practice?”

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He seems a little hesitant, like he isn't totally sure he has conveyed his meaning; but after a moment he smiles, and accepts the hand.

"Help practice, good," he agrees.

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And so they will practice!

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Sakshemar has the somewhat unlucky combination of strong poorly trained Gifts with strong poorly regulated emotions. When he gets frustrated, it's a short step from there to things being on fire that he did not intend to get that way. But he is, if not always patient in the moment, at least still patient with the process as a whole, ready to come back and try again as soon as he's settled his ruffled feathers. And he's as studious with this as he is with vocabulary lessons, and much more naturally suited to learning it. Sometimes he has to get up and pace around to soothe his restlessness, but otherwise he's willing to keep practicing for as long as Lionstar would like to keep helping him.

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Lionstar puts out a lot of fires. He thinks that Sakshemar is improving noticeably, but by sundown he can tell that his friend is exhausted, and he’s feeling worn out himself.

He suggests a meal and sleep.

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"Good plan," Sakshemar agrees. "I do first watch."

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That night, Lionstar dreams of Urtho. 

In the dream, which doesn't especially make sense, he's simultaneously racing across abandoned fields and roads, trying to reach the Tower in time, and watching from a great height.

(In reality, he is far away when it happens, and a different counterattack, set in motion before the mage's death, is what kills him.) 

He sees, too late, half the horizon turn to fire. Urtho's Final Strike, sacrificing himself to deny his former pupil every precious resource that had lain in that tower. Centuries of scholarship slagged to magma in an instant. 

Lionstar wakes screaming. 

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Sakshemar is there, reaching for him. He is unpracticed at comforting touch, but—friend. Important.

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Lionstar almost but not quite sends him flying with a blast of force. He pulls back in time; it takes long seconds to remember where he is, a faraway forest and not the fiery blaze of Urtho’s Tower, but only a fraction of the first second to recognize Sakshemar. Friend.

He lifts a hand, gesturing for Sakshemar to keep his distance, and tries to wrestle his breathing under control. It’s a struggle, and he finds he desperately wants that comfort, so he reaches back.

”Did you,” he forces out between pants, “did you - sense that - empathy?” 

He can’t tell if he hopes the answer is no or yes.

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He stays back when Lionstar gestures, but moves closer as soon as he changes his mind.

At the question, he nods.

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...Well, that’s awkward. Lionstar has little sense of how much detail Sakshemar could have picked up via Empathy, and isn’t sure how to ask and clarify without giving any more away.

“I am sorry,” he says with an embarrassed shrug. “It cannot have been pleasant for you. I...was dreaming, of a bad thing that happened.”

He hesitates. “A mistake that I made,” he admits finally.

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"Bad mistake," he says sympathetically, hugging him.

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It’s...nice...to be hugged. Lionstar can’t recall the last time anybody held him, even as Ma’ar. He’s grateful, because his newly-acquired teenage body isn’t making it easy to regain control of his emotions. He feels - not guilt, exactly, he still thinks that he made the best decisions he could in expectation given the knowledge and resources he had. And yet. Urtho is dead and two empires - at least - are destroyed, and whether or not “fault” is a useful concept to apply, he wishes it had happened differently. Lionstar feels grief, most of all, sharp and keen.

He wonders how much of it Sakshemar is picking up.

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Enough that Lionstar is getting very hugged, anyway.

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Eventually, Lionstar pulls away.

”I apologize for waking you,” he says, a little stiffly. “I can keep watch the rest of the night.” He doesn’t mind; he has a lot of thinking to do.

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He smiles a little, and nods, and goes to sleep.

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Lionstar watches the horizon. 

What do I want?

He needs a plan- no, he needs to go back to the drawing board. He had a plan before, and it nearly destroyed everything, he made a mistake even though he doesn’t yet understand exactly where or when or how. 

He needs to step back, somehow, to see with fresh eyes; he needs an outside perspective.

It would be so, so much easier if he wasn’t doing this alone. If he had just one ally he could trust. Maybe that’s been his mistake all along.

Can he afford to trust Sakshemar?

...Can he afford not to? 

The sun rises, and he still isn’t sure.

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Sakshemar wakes up, yawns, and goes to make breakfast.

"Hunt today maybe," he says. "More food good." Their supplies aren't exactly running low, but if they're planning to be out here indefinitely, he's got a point.

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“Good,” Lionstar says. “Maybe we work on vocabulary, on the way?” 

(If he’s even considering telling Sakshemar his secrets, he needs the ability to communicate clearly and without ambiguity.)

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He nods approvingly.

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They depart, and Lionstar does his best to walk Sakshemar through some terms and concepts related to warfare and empires. Vocabulary he thinks might be especially important for explaining his past. Should he decide to do so.

He’s a little distracted.

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Sakshemar doesn't comment on his distraction, either out of tact or because he's busy absorbing all that vocabulary. He's definitely still picking up the ability to understand new words much faster than he's picking up the ability to use them, but for Lionstar's purposes understanding them is the important part.

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...No, he can’t go through with it. Lionstar tries, he rehearses the words and even opens his mouth a few times to say them, but he can’t do it. It’s too much, imagining Sakshemar reacting badly - Ma’ar’s crimes are, to an ordinary person’s eyes, so much worse than a few deeply-regretted flails of anger - and he can’t face it. Not now.

They can hunt instead.

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He's very good at hunting. Not used to this terrain or this wildlife, but enough of the skillset carries over that they will be successfully fed. Especially since he also seems to know how to smoke meat, so they can preserve their surplus after they've cooked enough for a fresh meal. (Perhaps this explains the contents of his pack.)

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Lionstar continues to be quietly impressed. Sakshemar isn’t just skilled - he’s interesting, his questions during their language sessions continue to hint that he’s very well-educated. Much less surprising, now, given the knowledge that his father was someone ‘important.’

Lionstar decides not to prod more at Sakshemar’s past, but maybe he’ll poke around for topics of shared intellectual interest.

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Topics of intellectual interest prove difficult to dig up. He mentions offhandedly that he doesn't like to read— "hard to sit still so long," he explains.

But he turns out to be fascinated by magical theory and Leareth's knowledge of Gifts, as long as he doesn't have to sit still to hear about it. And he can offer more information about the Haighlei understanding of such things in exchange, with insightful if clumsily articulated comparisons between the disparate paradigms.

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Lionstar is especially curious to hear about how the Haighlei screen for Gifts, and - if Sakshemar knows anything of it - how they shut down said Gifts in the children who don’t live up to their standards.

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The latter is a secret of the priesthood, and Sakshemar has little more than speculation to offer as far as the methods, although he can describe the results; he's met someone whose mage-Gift was taken and he's confident that they were undamaged aside from the flaws that got them in trouble in the first place and the natural results of being known to everyone who meets you as a hopeless disgrace unfit for any important work.

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Interesting. Lionstar will just have to keep speculating.

He does know enough theory and pedagogy for various Gifts to keep the conversation running. Maybe Sakshemar would be interested in exploring his strong Empathy as well. Is he able to project emotions as well as sense then?

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He confirms that he can do that, but he's a little uncomfortable about it.

"Should maybe practice," he sighs, "for control, like fire—but—" Shrug. "I don't like... to change minds, like that."

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Lionstar understands that reluctance, especially given the cultural fraught-ness around mind-gifts with the Haighlei. 

”It is not a permanent change,” he tries to reassure Sakshemar. “Merely in the moment you are projecting, and it only will shift emotions, not beliefs or other structure. I...do not mind...if you were to practice with me.”

(He’s slightly uncomfortable with it, but he strongly values the prospect of having an ally with well-harnessed Projective Empathy. It may well come in handy.)

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"Shift emotions can do things," he says. "Emotion is—part of person. But—if you not mind, if you think I should... some time maybe," he reluctantly agrees.

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Lionstar doesn’t want to push too hard. “I think it is important, it is ill-advised to leave a strong Gift uncontrolled, but not urgent. When you feel ready. We might discuss and agree in advance what emotion to use, so we are both prepared.”

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He nods slowly. Still hesitant, but willing to consider the practical implications and let them inform his decisionmaking. "Yes. Good plan."

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In the meantime, it’s been a long day and they can settle down for the night. Lionstar can offer to take the first watch tonight, if Sakshemar would like. (Lionstar is concerned that Sakshemar is consistently getting short-shifted on sleep.)

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Sakshemar accepts this offer. He sleeps very soundly when he does.

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There’s enough meat that they really don’t need to hunt again for a couple of days, although it might be nice to supplement with some local edible plants, if Sakshemar knows of any. (The former Lionstar, unfortunately, was woefully unprepared there as well, and his memory-traces are fading anyway.)

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His knowledge there is sketchier, but he does recognize a few things. These berries are very tasty, and those roots are not much fun by themselves but make an excellent addition to stews.

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They will be adequately fed!

Lionstar mentions in the least pressuring way he can manage that he is still available if Sakshemar would like to practice Empathy.

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And he sighs and nods. This is not something he's looking forward to, but it is important.

"What should I try send?"

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Lionstar would like to pick an option that will be minimally uncomfortable for both Sakshemar and himself. “We start with something simple and positive,” he suggests. “Perhaps just calm-and-reassurance. I...can think of an upsetting subject. And see if you can counteract it.”

It won’t be hard at all to get himself feeling on edge, and if Sakshemar can fight that, it’ll be both easy to notice and an impressive show of control. 

”You are good at being reassuring,” he adds.

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...he smiles, pleased, at the compliment.

"We can do that," he agrees.

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“Please allow me about a minute to, er, prepare.” Lionstar sits down on a rock under their mossy overhang, closes his eyes, and lets his thoughts slide back to Urtho. Really, it takes less effort than keeping them away.

grief - pain - anger - no - 

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For a moment Sakshemar is just concentrating, with no visible result, sitting a few feet away and staring intently at the ground between them.

And then—

Calm.

A sense of peace and stillness, rolling over him like a wave. The feeling that everything is going to be all right, that he has time and space to rest. Comfort, safety, quiet contentment.

Sakshemar's projection is very strong. Detailed, too. It's not just a generic wash of reassuringness; it's a specific emotion, a specific experience, rich and real and alive. This is what okayness feels like to Sakshemar.

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It’s not real, Lionstar reminds himself - it’s just an emotion, Sakshemar is changing his head and not the world. Still, it feels... Relief. Not giving up, not setting down the burdens he made a pact with himself to near until he can fix it, but...metaphorically, he can sit down a moment, share that weight. His eyes are prickling, not from pain, but from the cessation of it.

He puts his head down on his knees, and basks in it for what feels like a very long time. 

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He holds it longer than he meant to, because Lionstar so obviously needs it.

But eventually, his concentration frays, and the projection fades.

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Lionstar blinks and sits up.

“That was...good,” he says. “Power, control, sophistication - Sakshemar, that was incredible! You have a great talent here.”

He pauses, takes a deep breath, and steels himself. “After you rest, I think we ought practice some less pleasant emotions. Offensive uses; fear, despair. Someday you - we - may be in a situation where this Gift is a necessary weapon. It would be well to have tried it before, and I do not mind.” 

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Lionstar's assessment of his talent makes him smile again. "Emotions are... easy to understand," he says. "I good by them. At. I am good at them."

He hesitates a little at Lionstar's suggestion, though. "I don't want... yes, good to know how to use as weapon, but..." Another momentary struggle with vocabulary. "Knife or spear, can make blunt, practice safe. Emotion weapon not so. Don't want to hurt you."

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Lionstar smiles; he isn’t sure why but he likes hearing Sakshemar admit that he’s good at something.

He looks his friend in the eye, earnest. “Sakshemar, you will not cause harm that cannot be undone. Emotions are fleeting, and you have just more than proven that you can do reassurance well. We might...arrange a signal, such that if it is too much, I will indicate this and you can switch to calming.” He bows his head. “I wish for you to know your full capabilities. And I trust you, with this.”

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He hesitates a moment longer, but then nods. "If you sure."

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Lionstar is more nervous than he’s trying to let on, but he does think it’s important.

He leans over and picks up a hand-sized stone. “Here. If I drop this, it means I need you to stop. You can also use your judgement and stop if I seem...not okay.” He smiles crookedly. “I am not so fragile, so do not worry. Start smaller, maybe, but do not be afraid to push.”

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He nods, at first tentative, then again more firmly.

"I try send fear," he says. "Ready?"

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“Ready.”

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And—

Dread. Sick, creeping dread, a wrongness in the world, not just the primal awareness of a threat but the feeling that something about this situation is fundamentally not okay. A burning need to respond, to gain control of the situation, to do something, anything to make the bad thing go away, and a helpless certainty that there is nothing to be done, that he has exhausted all the options and the only thing left is to sit here and feel this.

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It’s such an alien emotion, at first, that he doesn’t even think to resist, and then the awful helpless feeling-of-certain-doom has its grip on him and he can’t - there was something - can’t...

There’s a stone in his hand (and he needs to react, somehow, anything, to fight off the wrongbadwrong but he’s paralyzed under the crushing despair) and the stone is still in his hand and it was for something but he can’t, he can’t remember- 

A mental image of stars flashes and - not me, wrong, other - and he remembers, just long enough to let the stone fall from nerveless fingers.

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The projection drops. Sakshemar is looking at him with concern.

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“Really good,” Lionstar manages. “Strong.” He’s not trapped anymore but he’s still hurting, he has enough of his own horrors to outlast the projection. “Good weapon,” he repeats, and then tries to focus on his breathing, calm, but the unfamiliar body isn’t making it easy and he still feels on the verge of panic. “I need...can you... Help?”

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He nods, takes a deep breath, and projects calm. There's a bit of lingering fear around the very edges for the first couple of seconds before he gets settled, but then it's just as good as it was before, and also he is moving closer so he can give Lionstar a hug.

"Sorry for hurt you," he says.

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Being hugged is very good. Lionstar would like to keep being hugged for a while.

”Glad we tried,” he says, his voice only a little shaky. “Good to know your capabilities. You use that in a fight, it’ll knock your enemy flat. Know you won’t want to use it, but good to have backup plans, right?”

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He nods. "Yes. Hard to use in fight, but yes."

More hugs. Hugs and calm soothing projection. (A little of the rest of what he's feeling comes in around the edges again - care, concern, regret-for-harm-done.)

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Lionstar feels...better than he’s over felt before in this body, actually. Tension he hadn’t realized he was holding slips away.

It takes him a long time to name it, but he hasn’t felt this safe since the day he graduated and left Urtho’s Tower.

”...Sakshemar, are you all right?” he finally thinks to ask. “You had to feel that way, to project it, no? Is there anything I can do to help?” The words slip out before his mind catches up, but he means them. Sakshemar is his ally and friend.

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...he smiles a little. (Wry amusement flickers at the edge of the projection.) "Is... easier, feel it on purpose," he says. "More like remembering. But - hard, yes." Hug. "I... I all right." He seems uncertain of this conclusion at first, but a moment later repeats it more firmly, and with better grammar. "I am all right." The projection steadies again. Calm and safety and peace and calm.

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“Enough practice for today,” Lionstar suggests. He doesn’t especially want to move yet. 

(I trust you, he said to Sakshemar before, and he does. With his mind and emotions. His secrets...? No, not now. Not yet. He doesn’t know what he needs for that to feel safe, except that it’s more than this.)

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"Enough," he agrees. He keeps the projected calm going for another few seconds, though, before it starts to falter anyway and he has to withdraw it.

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It’s been a productive morning, and they still have plenty of food, so they can spend a relaxing afternoon talking about Gifts. Lionstar can tell Sakshemar the snippets he remembers of techniques for Empathy.

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He listens thoughtfully and compares them with what he's managed to put together about his own Gift, and shares his conclusions with Lionstar. Apparently he doesn't actually have much in the way of ability to shield out others' emotions, and instead has just sort of learned how to handle them and keep them separate enough from his own experience that he doesn't get lost in someone else's feelings. He concedes that shielding would probably be a valuable thing to practice, although he's oddly reluctant to try it.

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Lionstar agrees that shielding is an important skill, even if Sakshemar can manage fine without most of the time. He can sort of teach it, even, because the mental motion isn’t so different for mage-sight versus Empathy.

He’s curious about the reluctance but doesn’t prod.

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Well, then, perhaps Lionstar can teach Sakshemar to shield.

He's not very good at it. He's not very good at languages either, though, and he manages fine with those on sheer patient determination to put in as much work as it takes to succeed. Shielding looks to be going the same way.

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They have lots of time! Hunting, collecting plants and firewood, and some basic cooking and maintaining (or improving) the little camp, can all be accomplished quite efficiently. Their routine can fit in plenty of practice sessions on shielding and/or languages. Lionstar is hoping to pick up more of the Haighlei tongue and script as well.

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Sakshemar is happy to help with that! They're still short on writing materials, but he can do a decent rendition of the alphabet in the medium of Scratched In Dirt With Twig, and write out various words the same way—though in a few cases he's not totally confident of his spelling.

 

And then one afternoon, on the way back from a hunt, he startles slightly and stops in his tracks.

"People," he says. "That way." The way in question is, specifically, ahead. He frowns. "Found our camp maybe...?"

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“Oh.” Lionstar lowers his voice to a whisper. “Are they looking for - can you tell if they are from White Gryphon.” He glances at the underbrush by the path. “We ought perhaps try to approach unseen.” 

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He nods, and murmurs back, "Can't hear them yet. They feel—wanting to understand—" There's a word for that, what's the word for that...? "Curious. They feel curious. One is hungry." A pause, a soft sound of amusement. "Less hungry now. Maybe he take our food."

And he proceeds cautiously forward.

 

It transpires, when they get close enough to hear, that the interlopers are speaking Haighlei. Sakshemar pauses to listen; they're still far enough away that the words are hard to make out.

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Lionstar hovers behind Sakshemar. In his still-relatively-new body, his woodscraft skill hasn’t caught up yet, and he’s more at risk of stepping on a twig or something else unfortunate.

He’s passingly familiar with the Haighlei language by now, but not enough to pick out the muffled words either.

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He listens harder, moves closer.

"...they argue about taking our food," he says quietly. "I go talk to them, I think. You come, or stay?"

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“I can come with you.” It’ll make for a greater show of strength, and he can reasonably claim to be a White Gryphon local - a random Haighlei hunting-party have no reason to think otherwise.

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So he strides out onto the path.

The interlopers see him first, and are a little surprised to see another Haighlei so far from home. One of them calls a friendly greeting; the other apologizes, a little grudgingly, for having taken a bit of meat off the smoke rack.

Then Lionstar comes into view, and while he hasn't had a lot of time to learn the Haighlei tongue, he probably doesn't need that much of it to understand when one of them turns to him and asks, "Are you Lionstar k'Leshya?"

Sakshemar looks back and forth between the strangers and Lionstar. He is pretty thoroughly baffled by this turn of events.

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Lionstar is just as confused, and thoroughly caught off guard. He rapidly considers: telling the truth and saying yes, lying and saying no, throwing a levinbolt at the party (he’s been practicing), or turning and fleeing into the underbrush.

He settles on a fifth option: stalling. “Why ask?” he says in badly-pronounced Haighlei.

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The stranger's response is too rapid and complex for Lionstar to catch, but it has Sakshemar frowning.

"He say, White Gryphon look for you," he translates. "He say, gryphon people very worried, want you safe. Give money for safe return."

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Well isn’t that inconvenient.

”Tell him I’m not Lionstar k’Leshya,” he whispers hi Sakshemar. “See if that works.”

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He turns back to the stranger and speaks Haighlei for a bit.

The stranger makes a skeptical face and responds.

"He not believe me," Sakshemar relays, somewhat redundantly. The stranger says more things. "He say, you come to ship, go to White Gryphon, he get money, gryphon people see you safe, all good. If you not Lionstar, maybe he get money for try, you not hurt, all good."

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Needless to say, he very much does not want to go on the ship. He’s not the same Lionstar who ran away, and he really doubts he could successfully impersonate the teenager, even if he wanted to be trapped with Clan k’Leshya. Which he doesn’t.

“Maybe I can fight them and get away,” he whispers quickly to Sakshemar. “There are more of them but I have magic- oh.” He should check if the party also has a mage before he starts throwing levinbolts. Galling as it is, they would likely be better trained than he is right now.

It’s not much of a plan. He doesn’t actually want to hurt the strangers.

 

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The party does have a mage; it's the one who stole some of Sakshemar's food.

Sakshemar, meanwhile, is trying to talk them out of kidnapping his friend. It doesn't seem like he's having much luck. To them he is—at the moment—just another teenager.

"They have more people on ship," he reports to Lionstar in an undertone. "Fight maybe bad idea."

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Lionstar’s mind keeps cycling frantically through the options: fight (and almost certainly lose, not to mention hurt people), run (and be chased and likely caught), let them take him and attempt an escape later, just go along with it and try to pretend he’s the original Lionstar (and who knows what they’ll do if he’s found out...)

”...I’m going to try to run,” he hisses to Sakshemar. “Can you make a distraction - or, if you have any other ideas...”

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He winces, but then shakes his head slightly. "I have idea. I fix it," he murmurs. "All good."

And he turns back to the Haighlei party and—does something to his posture. It's not quite just that he straightens up, because he wasn't exactly slouching before; it's that he's standing more... precisely, with more careful attention to exact position and movement. The cadence of his voice changes, too, when he addresses them sharply. His phrasing seems more elaborate, almost ritualized. He introduces himself by name.

At first they're just confused, but within a few seconds they're treating him with deference. The one who stole food from them drops to his knees to plead forgiveness. Sakshemar handles that with ritualized phrasing, too. He seems to have taken complete control of the conversation.

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All Lionstar can do is stare. What? It’s as though s different person has stepped into Sakshemar’s skin. 

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Whatever he's doing, it takes a while, and doesn't seem to afford him the opportunity to pause and translate. Occasionally a word goes by that Lionstar recognizes, though, and given the slow pace of the proceedings this is enough to put together a vague sketch of what's going on, if he's paying attention.

The topic of conversation does more or less seem to be whether or not these people are going to take Lionstar to White Gryphon, and whether or not they're going to tell the people of White Gryphon that they saw him, and, as a side note, possibly also whether the mage who stole a bit of their food is going to be reported to the authorities and lose his Gift and his position in the priesthood. Sakshemar is on the side of none of these things happening. The strangers, particularly the mage, are coming around to his point of view.

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Lionstar is starting to be seriously impressed. And confused. He’s going to have a lot of questions once this is resolved - which it looks like it will be, in his favor. Eventually.

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The exchange concludes, finally, with the strangers bowing to Sakshemar and then going away.

He waits until they are well out of sight before he sits down on the ground, relaxes his strange posture, and puts his head in his hands. He looks exhausted.

"Important person face is so bad," he mutters.

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Lionstar sits down next to him and puts his arm over Sakshemar’s shoulders. “It is over now,” he says in his best reassuring voice, which honestly isn’t that good. “You can stop. ...What was that? They danced for you like show-dogs getting up on their hind feet.” He realizes a moment later that Sakshemar may not be fluent enough to catch the idiom. “Er, they took you very seriously. You - your father - you are that important?”

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"Father that important," he agrees. "And... priest, he know he should not steal. But... Important person, sometimes, not think other person is... real? So he take food from us, because strange people with strange camp in strange land, not real. And child of gryphon people with Haighlei friend, not important, still not real. But my father, very real. Priest know he do wrong now, real wrong to child of real person. Very afraid I tell father. Other priest maybe not take Gift for small thing like this, but if father very angry, maybe do."

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“This troubles you?” Lionstar says, sympathetically. “It feels wrong.”

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He sighs, leaning into him a little.

"Feels..." A pause, considering his words. "I not more real than you. Both person. Same. Haighlei not more real than gryphon person. Important person not more real than not. All same. All person, all with feelings inside. And... maybe, if he just afraid, make sense. Important person is more danger. But he feel—bad! Feel—wrong-by-gods feeling! Guilty! Only when he know I important man's son! Only when he know I real! Is... stupid."

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“It is very stupid,” Lionstar agrees, squeezing Sakshemar’s shoulders. “Not logical. Inconsistent. People are...all just people. As you say, the feelings inside - that is the part that matters. All the people are lights in the world.”

He stares past Sakshemar at the swaying leaves of the nearby trees. “This mage is not the first to grant greater moral worth to those in power, to feel guilt only when criticized by one with authority, but he is wrong to do so.”

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"I not good person," he says. "Not feel guilt. Not care if wrong by gods. But—know all people real. If hurt someone, real hurt. Kill servant's child, real death. Servant grieve his son, real grief. I know. Important person feeling not different, life not different."

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“Then I am not a good person either,” Lionstar says quietly. “I could not care less what the gods think of my choices, and I consider guilt to rarely be pointful. But...the joy and suffering of living people is real. That is what I care about. Not some god’s conception of virtue.” He almost spits the words.

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He smiles a little.

"You good friend," he says. "Not care about gods. Understand all people real. I glad you friend."

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Lionstar takes a deep breath. 

"You left all of that behind," he says slowly. "Because it sickens you, no?" He twists to look Sakshemar in the eye. "You... It caused you distress, to wear that face again. You did not have to do that. But you did. For me." 

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"—yes," he agrees, sounding a little surprised. "You not want go back. You scared. I know how fix it, I do. Distress, yes, but—important. So do."

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Sakshemar keeps surprising him. Lionstar is confusedwhich is a problem on his end, really, it means there's a discrepancy between the world and his head. That he's missing something.

He remembers. Peace and stillness, rolling over him like a wave. Comfort, safety, quiet contentment. The deep okayness that Sakshemar had to want him to feel – and had to feel himself, in order to project it. 

He trusts me.

And, empirically, Lionstar trusts him as well. He let Sakshemar train his Gifts by meddling directly with his emotions; there isn't anybody with whom Ma'ar would have felt safe letting down his guard like that. 

"Sakshemar," he says. "I – there are things I ought to tell you. About my life, before. Things I should have said sooner." It's still a terrifying prospect; his chest feels tight already. 

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He smiles a little, and nods, and puts a comforting hand on Lionstar's shoulder. "I listen."

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Lionstar can't bring himself to meet Sakshemar's eyes. He has to be willing to take risks, he tells himself. To gamble, because the payoff of having a genuine ally will be so, so high, and the cost, if it goes badly, is – well, he'll be no worse off than he was when he woke up in the forest. 

He's also unsure where to start. What if Sakshemar doesn't believe him, and thinks he's insane? 

He grits his teeth. "I am not really Lionstar," he says. "I was...someone else, before. When I was young, I invented a spell that I hoped would, well, allow me not to die." His throat tightens. "Dark magic. Blood power. I did it, I judged it worthwhile then because the world is – everything was so broken, someone had to do something and, and no one else was, and I – I needed more time."

He closes his eyes; it's stupid how close he is to tears, he doesn't even know why. "It worked. I...died, and then I came back, to this body. The day you found me, I murdered him. The child who was the real Lionstar. I took his skin to wear." He shudders. "I did not mean to. When I devised this method, I thought perhaps I might share. But I – it was instinct." 

It's hard to speak. "I made a vow," Lionstar forces out. "That I would not give up. Not ever, until the world is fixed. That is why I did this. But the cost... I would understand, if you think it is too high, and no longer wish to be my friend." 

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Sakshemar hugs him.

"Still friend," he says. "Good friend. Good you. I say before, I not good person. Not care if good by gods. Not care if friend good by gods. Make mistake, still friend. Do blood magic, still friend."

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Lionstar relaxes. A little.

”Thank you,” he says. “There is more. Do you know of a war that happened, far from here, some years ago? Clan k’Leshya fled this war and that is how White Gryphon came to be here.”

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"Only little know. War, big, do something to magic, gryphon people run away."

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“It was a war between a powerful mage called Urtho, who was the Archmage of Tantara and the Kaled’a’in people, and another mage called Ma’ar, of the kingdom of Predain,” Lionstar says. “Of whom Clan k’Leshya are part. I assume they fled here to escape the damage.”

He looks down at the dirt. “I was - I am - Ma’ar. Urtho...sacrificed himself, his life...to destroy his own fortress when my forces were drawing near, and he unleashed a weapon I knew nothing of in retaliation, which I assume is what killed me and contributed to the destruction.” The memories are too hazy to be sure; his death was sudden, he thinks, with little warning. Just long enough to know he had lost, and be afraid.

His eyes are stinging now. “Urtho was my teacher. I never meant it to end this way, but it did. My actions. My mistakes. Led to his death. Might as well say that I killed him.”

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"Care about someone, hurt that person, this hurt you," he says sympathetically. "Is hard. I am sorry." More hugs.

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Lionstar very much doesn't want the hugs to stop, but he has to say it. 

"You are not angry?" he whispers into Sakshemar's shoulder. "My actions, nearly destroyed the world. And...I do not regret what I tried to do. I wish I had been smarter, more skilled, I wish it had gone differently, I wish I could go back and do it over and not let Urtho die, but I do not feel guilt for it." Sakshemar needs to know that. Needs to know him. "If the gods think I am a monster, that is their problem, not mine." 

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"You do bad things," he agrees. "Bad mistakes. Good reason. Why I angry? Gods have problem, not I. You friend. You—care for things. Is good. If you monster, I worse. I not make promise to fix all bad things. I not try. I not have good reason for do bad things. I do bad things for stupid reasons."

He's oddly cheerful about this comparison. Also very much still hugging him.

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"I do not think I have ever met anyone else who made such a promise," Lionstar says. He feels weirdly light, and shaky with relief. "I am glad to have you as a friend. And...I have not seen you do any bad things for stupid reasons while I have known you." He raises his eyebrows. "Maybe you have learned things?" 

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"Maybe." He grins. "But also, alone in wet forest with friend for weeks. Where I find bad things to do? Set fire on breakfast? Insult squirrel?"

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Lionstar laughs. 

”I attacked you,” he says, more seriously. “You could have retaliated. You did not.”

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"When we meet? Yes," he says. "But I know you upset! I hear you long way away, very loud upset! Why be angry you attack me, if you so upset and I come near? Is like be angry at water for flow. If not want water on floor, not kick bucket."

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Lionstar laughs again. “Very reasonable. More reasonable than many people would be. You cared and you tried to help.” He stifles a yawn; it’s dusk now. “And maybe we ought to sleep.”

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He nods. "I do first watch," he volunteers.

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Lionstar finds that he’s quite exhausted, and he’s happy to share a final hug with Sakshemar and then curl up next to the fire in their little camp. Which is starting to feel weirdly like a home.

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He keeps watch until some moderately reasonable hour of the night and then makes food and eats some and wakes his friend.

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Lionstar thanks his friend, and eats, and then stands just under the overhanging ledge and watches Sakshemar sleep. And thinks.

He has an ally. What he doesn’t have is a plan.

Take over the continent? Empire-building didn’t go so well last time, and besides, they’re currently two teenagers camping in the woods (even if one of them does have a frightening level of authority. Sakshemar doesn’t want to use that and Lionstar is reluctant to push.) They’ll need to build up to that with smaller-scale schemes.

Maybe he can talk to Sakshemar in the morning and brainstorm some ideas.

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In the morning Sakshemar is cheerful and well-rested and happy to talk about whatever Lionstar would like.

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Lionstar is less well-rested; his head hurts a little. 

"Sakshemar," he says. "I have been trying to think about what to do next. I assume we do not intend to live here in the forest forever." He leans on a tree, looks out at a horizon. "I...wish to continue my mission. Wherever we are, this side of the world is no less flawed than the other." He takes a deep breath. "I am not sure, yet, what are the best specific next steps, but. Will you help?" 

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He nods. "Yes, help," he says. "Very yes help."

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“I am glad.” Lionstar leans against his friend’s shoulder for a moment. “I have ideas,” he says finally. “I was thinking. First, though. Is there any problem here, or among your people - or anywhere on this continent - that you feel a burning need to fix?”

He smiles, brightly. “Because we can start there.”

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...he smiles back.

"What if very hard problem?" he says. "Or—not hard. Is... lift heavy rock is hard, but simple. Rock go up, you done. People problem not like this. People problem have question like 'what is problem' and 'what is fix'. I want..."

He sighs.

"You hear, when I talk important person face, words very..." He raps his knuckles on the stone. "Stiff, like rock? Same words, same way say words, same words together, all same. Important person face talk like this. Is... for Haighlei, change how do thing, only ever at eclipse, only by word of gods or word of king. Other time not change. No change. Never change. Same way say words, same way make clothes, same way build house, same way hunt lion. Same law, same all things. I think very stupid this. I think—if change only by word of king, only in big eclipse important face words all important people listen, change wrong things. Not change things sound stupid, even if important. Change things sound important even if stupid!" He shrugs. "I not have burning need to fix, maybe, but is problem."

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"You describe it very well," Lionstar says thoughtfully. He's impressed. (The fact that he keeps being impressed by Sakshemar indicates that his understanding of the young man is wrong, probably.) "Issues of social policy are more difficult to solve, and the solutions especially challenging to implement. I...need a moment to think." 

Lionstar thinks for a while. Not change things sound stupid, even if important. Change things sound important even if stupid! It's an insightful analysis. 

"Rigid," he offers finally. "That is the word for what you describe. And...yes, it is especially difficult to solve a problem where the root is aversion to change. I am not sure how to approach this."

He turns back to Sakshemar and smiles. "However, I am certain it is possible. We need merely take our time, gathering information and considering options. The first action, I think, is to learn as much as I can from you about the Haighlei culture. I will need to learn Haighlei language as well. What do you think?"

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He nods. "I think good. I teach you things."

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"I would like to hear more about this 'eclipse' where change can be wrought," Lionstar starts. "And you say 'by word of gods' – how do the gods communicate Their will to yo– to the Haighlei people?" He isn't sure whether Sakshemar really considers them his people, at this point. "Also, some background on the political structure and leadership would be quite relevant here." 

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"King say what to change. People say he hear from gods. Maybe this, maybe he make it all up, maybe some both. I think some both. Eclipse is," he gestures at the sky, "one year in twenty, gods cover some of sun. Twenty years, then again. Sometimes other kind but this kind is when king say changes. Gryphon people come here before eclipse before now. Political structure... mm. King is king of all Haighlei, but other kings too, king of only some. All kings do eclipse but Shalaman of Khimbata is most king, other kings have to listen, not say things different than him. My father is... what is word, more far than brother... cousin? My father is cousin of Shalaman. Far, many others closer, but cousin." He does some arithmetic, counting on his fingers and murmuring names and Haighlei genealogical terms under his breath. "Ugh, numbers... forty-six people die, I king of Khimbata and all Haighlei. Also big war if that happen." A reflective pause, then he corrects, "Forty-seven. Uncle have baby this year."

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"I...see." Lionstar longs for pen and paper. For now, he retrieves a bit of charcoal from the firepit, finds a smooth place on the rock wall of their half-cave, and begins sketching out a diagram. He probably ought to learn all of the genealogical terms, they're likely to be relevant to politics, but it sounds tedious and he can put it off to later. 

"It is an empire made up of multiple nation-states," he summarizes, "each with some independent power but ultimately under the control of a capital that is run by this King Shamalan? Is that correct?" He pauses, forming his thoughts. "Could you describe the legal system in some more detail? All I know currently is that Gifts are strongly regulated – by a priesthood, no? And there are truth priests, who I assume have a role in the criminal justice system. What is the relation between the priesthood's power and the King's power?" 

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"Yes, by priest," he agrees. "Truth-priest is," he gives the Haighlei word, "Truthsayer. Very very not many. I think ten in Khimbata. Find truth other ways most time. Law is... so much." He gestures a vague shape in the air which, if it were a stack of books or scrolls, would weigh more than he does. "I see all Haighlei law one time. Not fit on one table. So much. I try read it, almost set fire on instead. Words so much!"

He smiles, then gets serious again.

"Law is for all thing but most thing not touch law, you follow? Is... not-law thing. People know, do this thing this way; see person not do, say wrong, make shame. Then all people do same way, no wrong, no shame, all good. Is sometimes law, sometimes not, but not touch law. No law for how important person face say words, but is right way and wrong way, do right way. Law for clothing, so look at clothing and know what kind of person, know if important—but clothing not touch law, most time. Person wear wrong clothing, other people see, say wrong, make shame, say is wrong by law, but not touch law for this, only make shame until person do right. Many many law like this. Touch law only when—big wrong by law, or when small wrong but person not stop."

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"I think I follow. The Haighlei do have an extremely detailed written law, but in terms of enforcement, most minor transgressions are not brought to courts or judges," do they have courts or judges, he can't remember if he explained the vocabulary and he would have to do some thinking on how to do so, "but are maintained by strong social custom and shaming?" 

Lionstar frowns. "Harder to fix than broken laws. It sounds as though, even if we were somehow to change the laws, the customs would not necessarily follow." Wait. Go back to... "What about the eclipse? Does that ever lead to large changes in what is considered right?" 

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He nods. "Yes. Eclipse come, king change law, new law is right, old law wrong. Some people complain, but all people know." A thoughtful pause. "But king understand, I think, what change people want and not want. Not do too big change. If next eclipse king say he marry servant's child and lion hunt now wrong by law, I think people say he wrong, too stupid to hear gods, need better king."

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"Sensible of him. I do not imagine it would go over well." He frowns. "Several options. If we had access to the king, to change laws, and to..." This time, his vocabulary fails him. "Those who are well known, who others look to for what is good and right, those who set the mores and morals. If we had that, we could...seed the change, between ceremonies. But it would be slow. Very slow." 

Centuries, maybe. Acceptable for him. Not for Sakshemar. 

"Sakshemar," he says, seriously. "You do not need to decide now, or even consider it yet. But. I can afford slow. When this body dies, I will return." And be more prepared for it, he hopes. He needs to start thinking about that; set up records, perhaps, his memories of the war with Urtho are already so foggy. "I...would offer you the same. If you wished. So that we might have time to fix your empire."

And then, eventually, everything else. 

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...he smiles, touched.

"I maybe want this," he says. "Not want be dead. Want be your friend, help you fix things. Is... better, maybe, if not have to kill to live, but... maybe still want."

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It's surprising, how warm that makes Lionstar feel. He reaches for Sakshemar's shoulder. 

"I understand," he says. "Not wanting to kill. I...would also have preferred that." His chest tightens. "Perhaps we can find a way. I do not want to have to do this alone." 

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"Not want you alone," he agrees, leaning into the touch a little and then moving closer so he can hug him. "Friend. Important."

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Hugs are good! Lionstar isn’t sure if Ma’ar ever had the kind of friend who would hug him. He’s pretty sure Urtho never did.

(It’s the first time he’s been able to think about Urtho like this - calmly, without wanting to cry.)

“We could work on language today,” Lionstar says finally, pulling back. “I would like to learn more relevant Haighlei vocabulary.” He frowns. “And make something to write on. Do you know of any plants that could be used to make paper or ink?” There are lots of birds around, he can bring one down with a levinbolt and obtain feathers to make a quill pen. “I wish to start keeping records.”

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"Not know forest plants much. Can try things maybe. And teach you Haighlei vocabulary."

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Lionstar approves of this plan!

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He's much better at teaching languages than he is at learning them, and his vocabulary in his native language is extensive. He tries to focus on relevant subjects: status, politics, law and custom. These lessons therefore end up interspersed with explanations of those things, delivered through his usual inventive use of limited Kaled'a'in.

Courts and judges both turn out to be concepts he is familiar with, although the Haighlei versions are a little different from what Lionstar may previously have heard of. Filtered through the barrier of their mutual vocabulary, the system looks something like this:

There is a role called lawkeeper. People of certain social classes have the ability to act as lawkeepers for ceremonial and traditional reasons—Sakshemar himself is one such. But most lawkeeper work is done by people of an appropriate caste whose actual job is to investigate crimes, find out who did them, and bring those people before a court.

In court, the lawkeeper presents the judge with the evidence and reasoning by which they concluded that the accused party did the crime. There are a lot of formalized phrasings for this exchange, many of which Sakshemar can rattle off by heart because his father has done a lot of work as a judge; it's a respectable occupation for a member of the nobility.

Any of the three parties—the judge, the lawkeeper, or the accused—can call for a Truthsayer at any point in the proceedings. Truthsayers are scarce enough that this can be ruinously expensive, so it's almost never done; but the possibility does a lot to keep the participants honest, because deliberately lying to a judge in court is a crime punishable by death, and deliberately lying as a judge in court carries a penalty which Sakshemar leaves unspecified due to vocabulary but implies is generally considered to be worse. Courts keep meticulous records of who said what at what time, so if someone does call for a Truthsayer, there's no weaseling out by conveniently forgetting your lies.

Normally, though, threats to call for a Truthsayer are merely alluded to, very rarely acted on. Instead, the judge hears out the lawkeeper's case, asks the accused for their side of the story, and comes to one of three conclusions: that the accused is innocent, that they are guilty, or that they are—there's a phrase for this but the words are unfamiliar and Sakshemar has trouble defining them: the gist seems to be that they did it, but under some mitigating circumstance such that instead of the usual punishment for their crime they should be treated more leniently. The example he gives is of a case his father saw, where a servant was stealing jewelry from their employer, but turned out to be spending the proceeds on expensive treatments for their child's rare illness; his father ruled that the employer should keep back half the servant's wages until the value of the stolen items was thereby repaid, but promised to personally cover the child's medical expenses.

Aside from these fascinating lessons on language, culture, law, and politics, Sakshemar also helps Lionstar test various possible sources of ink and paper. After a couple of days, they have some sheets of bark which can be semi-permanently marked by an ink made from charcoal dust mixed with water. Sakshemar is mostly pretty cheerful about the whole process; he likes working with his hands, and likes the accomplishment of having a need and creating tools and materials to fulfill that need out of resources found in their environment. He gets frustrated occasionally when one of their attempts doesn't work out, but when they finally have something that works he beams delightedly about it.

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It's not an unreasonable system, in Lionstar's eyes. He disagrees more with the content of the law than with the system for maintaining it (perhaps with the exception of excessively formalized phrasing, it seems a waste of time for young would-be lawkeepers to be learning that instead of more necessary material.) 

Lionstar writes everything down. The words he's learning, to review at night by firelight; his miscellaneous thoughts on the picture he's piecing together of Haighlei society; and, finally, what he can remember of his past, though he keeps those notes cryptic. Specific decisions made during the war are a blur now, though they still turn up in occasional nightmares, blended and remixed at random. He can still recall Urtho's face, but barely, only in the foggiest outline.

Every day, he's finding new things to be grateful for about Sakshemar's friendship. The young man's delight at small successes is one of those things.

One night, Sakshemar wakes him after his watch, and Lionstar renews his simple wards to warn of approaching attacks. (He's held off some revisiting 'wet lions' once already, this way; the strange wyrsa are magical enough to be detectable fifty yards away, and they can't get through the physical barrier-shield that this advance warning gives him plenty of time to raise, a few levinbolts and they were persuaded to abandon the prey that they couldn't get to anyway.) Lionstar yawns and paces, musing on Haighlei lawkeeper training and trying not to think about his dreams. 

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From somewhere behind him comes the snap of a twig and the rustle of underbrush.

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Lionstar doesn't react instantly, he's tired and distracted, but in less than a second he's spinning around and reaching out with his Othersenses – which have nothing useful to offer, and the sound seems to be coming from inside his wards.

He flings up a physical shield over Sakshemar's sleeping body, no time to weave one big enough for both of them, and then he raises his hand and starts to cast an overpowered mage-light, he's got a levinbolt at the ready and if he can just see what's going on–

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There's an indistinct figure rushing toward them, brandishing a big stick.

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Lionstar flings a levinbolt (without much time to aim and he's not sure if it'll land), and screams his friend's name as he dodges to one side. 

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The first swing of the stick misses; unfortunately, so does the levinbolt.

The second swing connects.

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It's the first thing Sakshemar sees, when he startles awake—his friend, being knocked flat by a blow to the head.

He launches himself at the attacker with a snarl of rage.

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(Fortunately, the hasty barrier-shield crumbles out of Sakshemar's way, when Lionstar loses the ability to concentrate on it.) 

Lionstar doesn't see his friend's charge. There's only a bright blaze of pain, and the ground rushing up to meet him, and then nothing. 

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He doesn't have his knife; it wasn't quite close enough to grab when he woke. Sloppy. He should never have slept without a weapon in reach.

It doesn't matter. Fire flares, and the stranger screams; their stick is a charred and crumbling ruin, and so is the hand that was holding it. Then they're on the ground, with his hands around their throat. A Haighlei stranger.

He is furious. He's never been angrier in his life. He can't feel Lionstar with his empathy-sense at all, not even as a vague blur of dreams. He is distantly aware that it's possible his friend was just knocked senseless—even more distantly, that if Lionstar dies here he'll come back, somewhere, somehow—but what he feels, in an immediate tangible sense, is that Lionstar is gone and this person is responsible.

Fire flares again, and again, and again. He's burning himself with the edges of it and he doesn't care a bit. The stranger's pain and terror sing in his mind like music. This person took his friend away from him and he is going to hurt them until there is nothing left to hurt.

 

Even past that point, even well past that point, it's a while before he's calm enough to turn away from the smoldering heap of ash and bone to see if Lionstar really is still alive.

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Lionstar is sprawled facedown in the dirt. It's very dark, now that the mage-light is gone; the only light comes from a sliver of moon, the embers of their campfire, a few tongues of flame licking at undergrowth which had the poor fortune to be too close to the Haighlei stranger, and a still-smoldering bit of Sakshemar's sleeve. 

Lionstar isn't moving, or making any sound. His mind isn't even blank; right now, there's nothing there for Sakshemar to sense. He seems to be breathing, though without light it's hard to tell for sure. 

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Well.

This is a problem.

Actually it's several problems. First, someone just tried to kill them both—clumsily, but very deliberately. Why? He didn't recognize the person but they were Haighlei and there's only one group of Haighlei who knows exactly where to find their camp, so the people he scared off have to be involved in this somehow, but why would they send an assassin? To shut him up, for their priest friend's sake? So, second, they still know exactly where to find the camp, and if the first attempt didn't work they may very well make another. It's not safe here.

And third, he has only the vaguest idea what to do about someone who was hit in the head and may or may not be breathing, besides 'wait and hope' or 'get a Healer'.

There's nowhere safe to wait, and no Healers closer than White Gryphon.

Also, every time he thinks about Lionstar's injury or the people responsible, he starts gathering fire before he can stop himself. And it's hard to stop himself.

It would be stupid to nearly lose his friend to a surprise attack and then finish the job himself because he lacks the self-control to keep a lid on his Gifts. But being stupid won't actually stop it from happening. If he doesn't have that self-control, dwelling on the bitter irony of the situation won't give it to him. He needs to actually not lose hold of his fire.

But all his hard-earned lessons on controlling his Gifts bring back memories of Lionstar teaching them to him, and then the same problem comes around again.

So. Fine. It's not safe to stay here, so they need to be somewhere else. And it's not safe for Sakshemar to spend much time near Lionstar until he can go two minutes without nearly starting a forest fire, so he needs to find somewhere safe-ish to leave Lionstar while he—does—something. Calms down? Finds the rest of that cursed expedition and kills them all? Both? Leave it, not important, he can figure it out when he gets there. First things first.

He takes apart their camp, packs away all their things, takes extra care to make sure Lionstar's notes are safe and sound. He crushes the charred bones of the person he killed and buries them with the ashes of the campfire.

He sits down and leans against the rock and closes his eyes and stretches his empathic senses out as far as they've ever gone. Is there anyone in range? Maybe—if he reaches even farther—a hint of something, a whisper, a vague feeling—

It might be nothing, but it's a direction to start looking in. It's not safe to sleep here, so he has to move. Has to find somewhere to leave Lionstar where he'll have a chance of making it through the night even if the forest burns down around him, and then... and then... something. Find the Haighlei expedition. Ask them what the fuck they were thinking, maybe.

He gets up. He picks up his friend, as carefully as he can. Walking through the forest in the dark carrying an injured man is stupid, but not as stupid as going to sleep in an unguarded camp that was just attacked by assassins, so move.

 

What he finds, after a lot of walking, is a cave. The cave has a bear in it. Then there is fire, and the bear is no longer in a state to object to company. He sets Lionstar down, carefully, with all their things, and as the sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon he leaves it all behind and heads back out into the forest, keeping his empathy open, muttering under his breath in Haighlei.

Don't burn down the forest. Fire crackles in his wake. Don't burn down the forest. It would be so easy to let this rage loose, let it scour the path ahead, descend on them like the wrath of the gods. Don't burn down the forest. He doesn't even know for sure that they sent the assassin. It could be a coincidence. Don't burn down the forest. He really doesn't think it's a coincidence. Don't burn down the forest. The minds on the edge of his range are getting clearer now, and he's pretty sure he recognizes them.

"Don't burn down the fucking forest, idiot," he says through gritted teeth.

A cluster of leaves hanging in his path bursts into flame and crumbles to ash.

He stops walking. He can't see them through the trees, but he can hear the water, distantly; they're in their boat, on the shore. Some of them are still asleep. Five, including the two he recognizes.

If he were a good person, if he were the person Lionstar thinks he is, maybe he would go talk to them. Maybe he'd pretend this was about justice. Lawkeeper, what do you bring to the court? Except that one of them is a priest, and priests are outside even his theoretical jurisdiction. He should remember to tell Lionstar—

Another blast of flame narrowly misses a tree in front of him, and he curses.

Well. He's not a good person. And this isn't about anything but finding somewhere to put his rage before it kills him and Lionstar both. That and, maybe, if he's generous with himself, the pragmatic necessity of making sure no one with the means and motive to kill them remains alive to try it.

He reaches out with his empathy. The more of himself he puts into that Gift, the less there is to fuel the fire. The picture of their little group becomes clearer and clearer in his mind. Three people dreaming, and the priest and a stranger on watch. The priest is troubled; the stranger is trying to cheer him up. He has no idea, looking at them, whether they sent that murderer on purpose. He does think the attacker was one of theirs, though; the priest's worries have the flavour of missing an absent friend who should be back by now.

His anger flares, and he pushes it into empathy instead of fire—and that means projecting it, and now the pair of them are both furious, and it's incredibly, unexpectedly satisfying to shove his grief and anger into them and make them want the world to burn as much as he does—and to feel their pain when they turn on each other in blind fury—and the three dreamers wake up to a storm of emotion, and now all of them are ripping each other apart, he can't see it but he can feel what they're feeling and good, he wants them to hurt, wants them to be the instruments of his rage, destroying each other for him while he watches.

It's a while before there are no minds left on the boat.

He takes a deep breath, and steps away from the tree he was leaning on, and staggers; pushing his empathy that hard at that kind of range took more out of him than he would've expected if he'd stopped to think about it. But he can think about Lionstar now without anything catching fire in his vicinity, and that's the important thing here. He trudges back to the bear cave, dizzy and exhausted, forcing himself to keep moving so at least when he collapses he'll be between his friend and danger.

When he finally makes it back, he's just about capable of verifying that Lionstar is still breathing before he curls up on the cave floor and falls instantly asleep.

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The first thing to come back is pain. 

Then... A tangled blur of sound that slowly resolves. Birds calling, somewhere far away. Branches in the wind, maybe. 

Pain.

The smell of burnt meat, bitter and acrid, mingling with a feeling of parched-thirst. 

Pain. 

...No room for thought, but slowly, space opens for emotion. Confusion, mostly. Whimpering, trying to lever open stuck eyelids, and the light is dim but it still stabs, and there's a garbled cry that hurts even worse and it must be him. Not safe, and he tries to Reach and check his wards and can't and the fear is rising to panic now, he tries to sit up and screams and chokes on it, not safe not safe not safe–

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calm.

Calm and safe and everything is okay and Sakshemar is holding him, carefully, shielding his eyes from the light.

(He's tired and he probably shouldn't be using his empathy again so soon after exhausting himself with it but taking care of Lionstar is very important.)

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He can’t quite make his eyes focus on the face but he knows that feeling of calm-safe, it’s...a friend...he can’t recall a name and that should be worrying but worry isn’t something he can feel through the calm washing over him.

...He closes his eyes and drifts for a while, not quite sleeping, but the thirst is starting to be more urgent than the unrelenting throbbing in his head. Ask for water, is the first half-formed thought to float up, but it doesn’t seem like it can reach his lips, he keeps trying and it should work, talking isn’t hard, but it doesn’t work and frustration is pulsing under the blanket of calm.

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Whether because Sakshemar guessed what he was frustrated about or because Sakshemar independently concluded that he might need water, water does come, eventually.

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And then he does sleep, falling through a web of scattered dreams of trying to dodge vague shapes with weapons and failing over and over, falling, pain...

...He blinks awake, the faint light still hurts but this time Ma’ar - no, not that, not anymore, his name is Lionstar - can carve out a corner for thoughts. Can remember who he is, if not where or when or why.

Start with here and now. He’s lying on a hard and uneven surface, a rock digging into his hip. His feet are cold but the rest of him isn’t, because someone is holding him. A friend. 

“...Sakshemar?” he pushes out. “What...?” And hope that’s enough to convey all his questions, because getting words from his aching head to his tongue still isn’t working especially well. 

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"Someone attack us, hit your head," he says. "I kill them. Safe now."

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Digging too hard at the memories makes Lionstar dizzy, but he remembers enough. “My watch. I’m...sorry...” He tries to turn, to see Sakshemar’s face. “I...who...? And, where, now?”

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"Who is people who find our camp before. Where is cave."

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...Lionstar should have questions, probably, but moving his head is ill-advised and thinking even more so, and now the ground is spinning and making him seasick, and he squeezes his eyes shut and curls away from it until, finally, everything fades.

He swims under a sea of glue, and half-surfaces to dark and cold and his body, distant, shivering uncontrollably, there’s wetness where he must have pissed himself and he should...apologize...or something, but the glue pins him down and he gives up. 

(If Sakshemar tries to wake him, after this point, he’ll notice that Lionstar will mumble out something garbled but can’t be roused.)

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He does try to wake him, and then he cleans up the mess, and then he sits and worries for a while. He's no longer in danger of burning the forest down around them, but Lionstar is in a bad way and Sakshemar doesn't know how to help.

...it's maybe time to go look for a Healer.

But - Lionstar probably wouldn't be thrilled about returning to White Gryphon, and realistically that's the only place they're getting one - but Lionstar is barely capable of conscious thought, and Sakshemar has to do something.

Okay. He can - wait a little while, maybe, not more than a day, and try to keep Lionstar supplied with water and maybe eventually attempt to feed him some stew, and see if he becomes conscious enough for conversation at any point. And if so then he can ask. And if not... then they're going to White Gryphon.

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The sun rises and Lionstar grimaces and stirs and tries to wake up, the glue isn’t budging easily and he can’t particularly think but he eventually gets his eyes open and croaks out his friend’s name.

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"I here," he says, hurrying to Lionstar's side. "I think you need Healer."

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Lionstar has to chew on that for a few moments before the words turn into concepts. “Yes,” he manages. “Agree.” He’s never felt this bad for this long before and it’s not obviously getting any better.

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"Gryphon people have Healers," he says. "I bring you. You hit head, is not surprise you different, remember different, act different. Sometimes hit head do that."

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...This sounds like a terrible idea.

But Lionstar can’t hang onto all the pieces, can’t put the considerations in order and make it fit together, much less see which decision is better. He should be able to and he’s nearly in tears with frustration but he...can’t.

“You decide,” he mumbles finally. “Trust you.” And he’s exhausted again and maybe he will just go back to sleep now.

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...aww.

Sakshemar holds him for a little while longer, and then he sits for a minute and thinks about it, really thinks about it, because this is important and Lionstar is trusting him and that means he has to not fuck it up for once.

And...

...it's not that it isn't a terrible idea. It's absolutely a terrible idea. It's just that all of the other options are worse. Taking care of a person with a bad head injury, untrained, alone in the woods with no one else around to help? They'd both be dead the next time one of those wyrsa things showed up. No, this is the only way.

So.

He packs everything up again. It's a shorter job than last time; he hasn't exactly had time to make this cave a home.

And he carries Lionstar through the woods, in his best guess at the direction of the White Gryphon settlement, moving slowly and carefully and reaching out ahead of him with his empathic senses to see if he can glimpse anything resembling civilization.

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Kechara is a good gryphon. She works very, very hard for Skandradon and Zhaneel who she loves so very much, passing messages between the gryphons – the messages are usually of the confusing grownup kind but she doesn't mind that – and then, afterward, she can play. 

She's playing in the woods, today, because her friends are busy and all the scouts are out. Except that there's someone there!! A friend?? Kechara doesn't recognize the mind-flavor but that's even better – a new friend!

(Her adoptive parents have, in fact, warned her multiple times to be wary of strangers and to come tell them right away if anyone she doesn't recognize is nearby, but Kechara isn't very good at remembering warnings and she's so excited right now.) 

She leaps through the bushes, pretends to pounce on a mossy hillock, and trips on her too-long wings and rolls over. The new-friend is closer now, it's a boy and he's worried and sad. Kechara hates it when her friends are worried and sad.

...And there's a fainter mind, one that tastes familiar-but-not, and now she's close enough to smell and it is someone she knows! It's Lionstar – who was never very nice to her, but Kechara is generous and would call him her friend anyway – only there's something wrong

And she bounds ahead and bursts out of the trees and almost runs into a comically startled-looking young man with the funny dark skin that the Haighlei have, and he's carrying Lionstar in his arms. 

"Hi!" she says brightly. "My name is Kechara! Will you be my friend?" 

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The Haighlei stranger blinks at her in utter bewilderment.

There is a pause while he sorts through his feelings, confusion and alarm fading quickly into curiosity and endearment and—hope?

"Yes," he says, very firmly.

But then his smile fades a little, and he looks down more seriously at the boy in his arms, and back up at the gryphon. "Can you help? My friend hit head, need Healer."

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Kechara is very distracted from Lionstar (who is her friend but not a very nice one and maybe the new stranger will be nicer?), and it isn't until now that she notices his hurts. Kechara has helped some of the Healers at White Gryphon, using her strong Empathy with patients who are frightened (because she is a very good gryphon!) and when she's paying attention, she knows what a head wound Feels like. 

"Oh no!" She spins in a distressed circle, wings and tail leaving tracks in the fallen needles. "I call for help! Get Healer!" And she Reaches. 

Drake is busy with a client and brushes her off his shields with a 'not now, sweetling.' One of the other Healers is free, though, and soon Kechara opens her eyes. "I Call! Healer Sunleaf is coming!" 

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"Thank you," says the new friend. "I am Sakshemar. Is good to meet you."

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Lionstar moans, people keep talking and why won't they go away, he feels like he ought to recognize that voice but it's through someone else's memories to begin with and his head is so foggy. "Sakshemar...?" he mumbles. "Where...?" 

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"I am Kechara! Good gryphon!" She's so excited that she trips on her wing-ends again. 

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And now Sunleaf is hurrying through the trees toward them, wondering why in the world Kechara is dragging her out here this time and hoping it's not another injured squirrel. 

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This situation is honestly vastly improved by Kechara being tremendously adorable.

"I find gryphon people," he murmurs to Lionstar. "Is safe. Meet gryphon, gryphon get Healer, all good."

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Sunleaf reaches them. 

"Kechara, what? Who is thi–" She cuts off midword and sprints the remaining few yards. "Lionstar!" She has her hands on his forehead. "Oh no, this isn't good. Young man, where did you find him? He's been missing for weeks! Are you with that exploratory troop that swung by earlier? Come on, let's not dally – help me get him back to town. This way." 

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"I find him in forest," he says, carrying his friend as directed. "He not want go back to White Gryphon, I not want go back to Khimbata, we stay in forest together. Then this. Now here."

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The Healer opens her mouth to say something else, and then closes it, and just hurries him faster. They break out of the trees and hit a large meadow, with cultivated fields visible further off, and there's a road paved in...seashells? Sunleaf waves and yells and flags down a passing farm-cart, dragging the three of them into it, and barks instructions to the farmer, who nudges his mule into a faster gait. The air smells strongly of ocean.

(Kechara is very excited about riding in the cart, and delightedly announces this several times.) 

They plow through a cozy little village of wooden buildings and reach the cliff-edge. White Gryphon itself might look very odd to Sakshemar's eyes – rather than being built at the top of the cliffs, it's dug into terraces in the limestone itself. Befitting the name, everything is very bright white in the midday sunlight. 

Sunleaf directs the farmer to a set of stairs leading downward, tersely asks Sakshemar if he can manage them while holding Lionstar, and doesn't really wait to hear his answer. 

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Fortunately, he absolutely can.

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They go down three back-and-forth switchbacks of limestone stairs, which fortunately are very neatly carved and easy to walk on, with a short wall and a bit of rope railing between them and the drop. They reach the first terrace, and Sunleaf speeds the pace even more, until they hit a limestone building and she shoves through the door and nearly plows into another man. "Drake! We've found him!" 

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The other man is taller than Lionstar, and much older, with features that otherwise resemble his. He seems to be in much less of a hurry, and surveys their little group before nodding deeply to Sakshemar. "Our gratitude goes to you, youngling. My name is Amberdrake; I am on the Council of our humble city, and I am also a Healer. Please bring your friend this way."

He smiles; he has a very reassuring smile. They must be in some kind of Healers' space, because Amberdrake nudges aside a curtained alcove to show a tidy little limestone room with a cot in it. "You can lay him down here and we will have a look. Our dear Kechara has passed on some of the tale, but I do not know all of it. What befell him, exactly?" 

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"We meet other people in forest," he says in his heavily accented Kaled'a'in. "They steal our food, try bring Lionstar here. He not want, they try anyway. I tell them go away, not steal food, not try take my friend where he not want go. They say sorry, they go away. Then, middle of night, someone attack. Same people I think. They hit his head, I kill them. I try take care of him, but..." He shakes his head. "Not know enough. Bad. So, now here. He not want here but I think he not want dead more."

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Amberdrake frowns. Somehow he can still look comforting. 

"Not something I am best pleased to hear," he says finally. "We need to speak more, later." And a smile that doesn't quite erase his obvious concern. "I can assure you that you made the right choice, coming back, and I think Lionstar will forgive you for it, once he has his wits about him again. For now, I will need your help in getting him to drink some medicine, and then, if you do not mind, I would appreciate your staying at his side while I do some Healing. Kechara tells me that he finds your presence soothing, and," a brief smile, "our Lionstar can be a rather prickly young man." 

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He smiles a little, and nods. "Yes, I help," he agrees.

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Lionstar half-wakes to familiar arms supporting him – friend – and a different voice, familiar-yet-not, informing him that he needs to drink something. It tastes bad but Sakshemar is projecting calm at him and so it doesn't bother him much.

Skip, and he's lying down again – but comfortable, warm – only something is moving in his head and he starts to panic, but doesn't get far, because Sakshemar is there with relentless calm-safety

This repeats at least a dozen times, but by the end of it, his head hurts less.

Then the half-familiar voice again. "There, I have done all that I can to set him right. Rest and time will do the rest. Unfortunately, I am not sure where he is to go in the meantime. He must have mentioned to you that he is an orphan? After he ran away, we investigated his situation at home, and I think he is justified in not wishing to return to his uncle's household. For the time being, I suppose he can stay here, and I will consider. Do not let him exert himself unduly, please, physically or mentally, but he may have food if he asks for it."

More words, further off, that Lionstar doesn't catch, and retreating footsteps. He means to say something to Sakshemar – apologize, explain, he doesn't know what – but instead he falls asleep again, deep restful sleep without dreams, and when the world comes back, his head is only aching a little. He feels muzzy, but it's more the feeling of pain-drugs than of injury.

He dares to open his eyes. "Sakshemar?" 

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Sakshemar is right there, smiling at him. "Lionstar! Awake, good. I find Healer, Healer fix you. Say you need rest now. Want food, water?"

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"I would like water." Being able to think and speak in full sentences again is glorious. "Not sure about food yet." He's still queasy, which seems very unfair. 

And he recognizes those limestone walls. And, belatedly, the weirdly-familiar voice; the former inhabitant of Lionstar's body knew Amberdrake, and a few memory-traces are still there. "We are in White Gryphon," he says, redundantly. "What did you tell them?" 

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"We meet people in forest, they want take you back, you not want go, I tell them go away, they do, then late night someone attack, I think same people, you hurt, I bring."

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"Is anybody nearby?" He lowers his voice. "Did you say that you killed the person? What did Amberdrake have to say?" 

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"Yes, I say I kill person," he confirms. "Amberdrake worry. He say talk more later. But later not happen yet. I help take care of you." He checks with empathic senses. "I think no one near for hear us, but not sure."

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Best not bring up specifics, then, but there are other parts, only, he’s not sure how to ask. 

“I am sorry.” Start with that. “It was my watch and I was lax.” Nearly murdered by a man with a big stick. Humiliating. “...Are you all right? It cannot have been easy.” And he hasn’t been able to help. For days.

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"I all right," he says. "Good you still here. Not need sorry. Sometimes mistake happen. All good."

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Lionstar is unconvinced on the ‘fine’ part, but it’s not the time to discuss it. He tries to sit up - and is reminded that he might be feeling better but is far from well, moving makes him very dizzy and he doesn’t seem to have the strength for it.

“...Help?”

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Sakshemar helps.

"Amberdrake say not let you do too much," he cautions.

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This is the point at which Kechara skids in, tangling herself in the curtain. 

"Friend!" She projects a burst of delight in Sakshemar's general direction. "And Lionstar! Feel better now? Play with me!" 

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"Better but not all better," says Sakshemar, smiling. It's hard not to smile around Kechara. "Careful."

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"Oh." Kechara immediately freezes, and then proceeds with exaggerated caution, tiptoeing across the room. "I be very careful!" she promises gravely. "Lionstar want snuggles? Friend?"  

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Lionstar's mind is spinning in confusion. The former inhabitant of this body of the same name didn't especially like Kechara. Ma'ar never cared for gryphons, period, although right now he's too foggy to remember why, hopefully it's in his notes. But he isn't the boy formerly known as Lionstar, and he...isn't precisely Ma'ar either. Not anymore.

Kechara is cute. And...safe-feeling. He isn't sure if that's a thought Ma'ar could ever have had. 

"Friend," he offers, smiling weakly, and holds out his hand. 

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What a good way for things to be.

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Lionstar is coaxed to drink, and then dozes off with his head against Kechara's wing, and Kechara has a whispered but equally excited conversation with Sakshemar, and then Lionstar wakes and Sakshemar can persuade him to eat some soup, and finally it's nightfall and a cheerful young man who's probably an apprentice Healer brings Sakshemar a mat on the floor to sleep. 

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Shortly after dawn, Amberdrake is back, parting the curtains. "Sakshemar?" he calls out in a low voice. "Would it be well with you to speak further now?" 

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He makes an agreeable noise and gets up to follow him out, since presumably Amberdrake would rather talk where they won't disturb Lionstar.

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Amberdrake, unsmiling this time, leads him along streets paved with crushed oyster-shells, already gleaming in the morning light, between more limestone buildings carved out of the cliff. Eventually they come to one particular large, square building with white-curtained windows, and ushers Sakshemar in, nudging aside another door-curtain. It's pleasantly cool inside. 

"Sit," Amberdrake says, gesturing to a stool on one side of a polished-wood table. He takes the other stool, and leans forward. "I think we do us better speaking in your tongue?" he says, in not-quite-totally-fluent Haighlei. "Does that suit?

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"Maybe so," he agrees. "Your Haighlei is better than my Kaled'a'in, anyway. Though it's surprising how well I can get by with very few words if I'm creative about using them."

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A flicker of a smile. "You are a resourceful young man, I think." Amberdrake lays out a long piece of parchment, dips a quill pen in an inkwell. "So. I am sorry to need make you revisit what happened, certain it was difficult. But, I worry. Not good sign for our diplomatic relations. So I wish that you tell me again what happened, I hope more easy in your tongue. And start from beginning, please. Why were you in the woods near our city, to find Lionstar?" 

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"I left Khimbata because I didn't like it there," he says. "I wanted to find White Gryphon and see if I liked your customs any better than I liked mine. Seems Lionstar had a similar idea. We met in the woods and decided we liked each other better than either of our homes, so we stayed out there. Fended off a few wild animal attacks—oh, if nobody's told you already, you should know there's creatures out there that eat magic. I think the word Lionstar used was wyrsa? Fast scaly snake-lizard-lion-things. Anyway. So the expedition found our camp, while we were away, and their priest took some meat from our stores."

He frowns slightly.

"I don't know how much you know about Haighlei priests, but—he shouldn't have done that. It's not lawful. Priests aren't supposed to be the sort of people who would steal. But people, you know, they'll do what they like when they don't think someone's enough of a person to count, and he thought he was at the camp of a couple of your scouts, or something. Not the sort of person it matters if you take a little food from. And then we came back, and we were a couple of teenagers, even less like real people than he thought. They wanted to take Lionstar back here—I think they mentioned a reward?—and Lionstar wasn't interested, and they weren't interested in leaving him alone. So."

A small sigh.

"I introduced myself. Sakshemar, son of Naraynan. My father is the king's cousin. That got them listening to me. I told the priest I didn't mind about the theft but he wasn't going to take my friend anywhere my friend didn't feel like going. He was terrified. If I took this story home to my father, made enough noise about it, he could have his Gift taken away. I reassured him I wasn't going to do that, and he convinced his friend not to kidnap mine, and they went away. Then a few days later a stranger attacked us in the middle of the night. I woke up just in time to see them hit Lionstar in the head with a big stick. I attacked and killed them and grabbed all our stuff and Lionstar and went to make another camp somewhere else, because it was clear that one wasn't safe anymore, and I tried to take care of him until it was obvious that I couldn't, and then I told him I was coming here to find a Healer, and he was pretty well out of it but he said he trusted me, so here we are."

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Amberdrake's quick indrawn breath at the name 'Naraynan' reveals his recognition, but he doesn't interrupt, only listens and makes soft encouraging noises and occasionally writes something down. 

"You did well," he says finally. "I wish you know that, foremost. Bad situation, you did your best choice available." His expression darkens, but aimed at the window, not at Sakshemar. 

"Political consequences worry me most," he goes on. "Not sure if is helped by your stature. Perhaps worse. This priest, this party – they knew, no? And still sent assassin. That is... Would not go over well, were it known to your people, I think." 

Amberdrake scowls. "And for my people's part? We spoke to party, we asked reward for Lionstar's return, safe and unharmed. Not unhappy that they left it first time, clear he did not care to return. But assassin? Knew who he was, a runaway youngling, no danger to them. I cannot let such an offense slide, and yet, I cannot say how is best to proceed. For start, might send message to Khimbata. Not specify details, ask for talks. Negotiate recompense. I need think on it though." 

He softens again. "But you. Saved a friend from death, not a choice anyone should condemn you for. Yet, killing not easy on spirit, even in self-defense. And–" he leans in closer, lowering his voice, "you is Empath, no? I also. Can recognize it in your aura. This be why you left? Mind-Gifts not an easy thing to carry in your homeland. And a heavy burden indeed, when killing with your own hand. I wish that you have chance to speak of it, to unweave that pain, and I am here for that." 

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"Yes, I have the mind-Gift with emotions," he agrees. "And it's part of why I left. They'd take my Gift if they knew I had it; it came late, after the tests had been and gone."

He considers Amberdrake's words with a thoughtful frown.

"I think I know what you mean, but—I was so angry there wasn't room for anything else. It didn't hurt."

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Amberdrake looks at him, hard, for several moments. 

"I see," he says finally. "Well, offer remains open. Sometimes our feelings hide in moments of danger, and then return. In any case. I assume your training is little to none, so I also offer that I am practiced and might give lessons. Only do you wish – it appears your Gift is controlled enough and not give trouble. And explains why you are so gentle with young Lionstar, perhaps." Another softening. "He has trust in you. Have not seen him trust many others." Embarrassment, even shame. "His youth was troubled, wish that I had seen sooner." 

And he sits back. "Final question, for today. You are of nobility, and understand your people better than I. If you suggest course of action for our Council, now, I listen, and bring it to others." 

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"Well, that's the first time anyone's ever asked me for political advice," he says wryly.

And then, more seriously: "I don't know. I do think—you're right that Lionstar was no threat to them, but I did terrify that priest, and he had good reason to be afraid. Coming after us to silence me... it wasn't right, or lawful, but it wasn't unreasoning either, you follow? And I don't even know if the assassin was sent, or came on their own to protect their friend. It could be that all that happened was one person making bad decisions out of fear and then dying for it. The sort of thing you could start a war over if you wanted one, but I don't think you do."

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Amberdrake smiles. "You are a compassionate heart," he says. "And right. We have no want for war. So now, I think I go meet with the Council, and you go to your friend's side. I will call on you if further need." He stands, and claps Sakshemar on the shoulder. "And, no worry that we send you back. You welcome as one of us, and not only for your service to our own. I have no love for Haighlei law on Mind-Gifts." 

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When Sakshemar makes his way back to the little alcove-room, he's going to find Lionstar curled up in a ball with his face to the wall, faintly radiating misery. 

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He hurries to his friend's side.

"Sorry not here," he says. "Amberdrake want I tell story. Done now."

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Lionstar doesn’t say anything at first, just huddles against his friend.

“Can’t think,” he mumbles finally. “I cannot remember!” He’s terrified. “What if...it never comes back?” An entire past life, everything that he is, gone...

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Sakshemar hugs him.

"You keep some," he says. "You have notes, I remember things you say. Not all, but some, even if remember nothing. And I think maybe you remember more after you more better."

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...This is plausible, but 'after he's better' is in the future, not now, and it's hard to imagine a future existing through the dull sick throb in his head. "Hate it," Lionstar mutters, he's so frustrated he wants to throw something, but the only object within reach is a pillow, which wouldn't be very satisfying. He grabs it and throws it anyway, blinking away tears. 

"Hate this place. Feels bad." He has an inkling that this is the fault of the previous Lionstar, who clearly wasn't fond of his home, for reasons that are just as lost to him as the memory of Urtho's face – no, he can't think about Urtho or he's going to burst into tears and – not safe...

Setting something on fire would be more satisfying but his Gift isn't working, he tries anyway and it makes his head pound worse, why doesn't anything work, even his emotions aren't working, there's no good reason to cry but it's taking every scrap of will to hold it back. "Sorry," he mumbles. 

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"All good. Sorry you too," says Sakshemar, hugging him more. "Want calm?"

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Lionstar wants not this, he wants to take back the entire last week, but he nods. 

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Hugs, and peace wrapping him up like a blanket.

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It's better. It's a lot better. His head hurts less when he can actually manage to relax. Lionstar tucks his head against Sakshemar's chest, and maybe cries a little. It's surprising how much it helps. 

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And then after a while, a different head peeks through the curtain. It's a woman, older but clearly fit, clad in an official-looking tunic. "I am looking for Sakshemar?" 

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He looks up. "I am Sakshemar," he says agreeably.

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"My pleasure to meet you. And Lionstar – I'm glad to see you home safe and, well, not unharmed, but at least on the mend. I would speak with both of you, if that's all right."

She doesn't exactly wait for confirmation, though; she glances around, then ducks back through the curtain, and returns with another chair, and sits. "Good. I've spoken briefly with Drake, and we're going to have a full meeting, but right now my main impression is that we really don't need any more diplomatic tensions." She aims a wry look at Sakshemar. "It does help that, er, it wasn't one of our people who killed their man. Anyway, we'll get Lady Cinnabar's advice – she was always a better diplomat than either Drake or I – but I expect we'll draft up a polite but firm diplomat note asking for an appropriate recompense for Lionstar's injuries." 

A pause. 

"Of course, their side lost a life," she says. "Though under our laws – well, it's a bit tactless to say he had it coming, but that's the gist of it. Self-defense isn't murder in our eyes. I did want to check how your people are likely to interpret it." She frowns. "Drake already said he's not handing you over to them so your folk can administer their own justice. Rather complicates things, doesn't it. From what I heard, you're of noble blood and the dead man isn't, which ought to help your case," a flicker of distaste, "but nonetheless, I'd like to check that holding onto you isn't going to start a war." 

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"Mm..." he says. "Shalaman of Khimbata not want war with White Gryphon. Very much not want. Some things maybe other king give war for, he not. Hold onto me, not war by itself unless he want. Some other things maybe war, maybe not. War maybe if White Gryphon do—" he makes a face, says something in Haighlei— "I not know word. Lion roar, very loud, tell other lion go away, other lion roar too, both know not fight, but make loud anger noise much? You know this thing? Here, someone dead, not do this. Do quiet, do calm, say want peace. Want things for balance law maybe but want peace. If you talk like you want war, you get it."

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"I see. 'Escalation' is the word you're looking for, I believe." She smiles thinly. "We're not idiots, so we won't do it. Hmm. Likely we'll say that we can talk about recompense, but we won't suggest any specifics, and we'll wait to see the reply. My thanks for your advice. Do try to stay out of trouble, please, and avoid ending up in any more situations where you need to kill someone else in self-defense." 

She stands up briskly, takes her chair, and vanishes. 

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Lionstar is much less calm and relaxed than he was five minutes ago. "Sakshemar, I am sorry. This is...trouble..." He really, really didn't intend to ruin his fresh start here by accidentally starting yet another war. 

 

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He realizes as she's leaving that he never got around to explaining how Haighlei law sees his killing of the nighttime assassin, but he decides not to chase after her and subject her to more of his barely-intelligible attempts to talk around the gaps in his vocabulary.

"Yes, is trouble," he agrees. "I not worry. Shalaman not want war, Amberdrake not want war, I think not war."

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Lionstar is going to have to accept that for now, because trying to reason about it from first principles makes it feel like someone is stabbing him through the eyeballs.

"Good," he says. "Sakshemar, I trust you. Good friend. You do...what needs doing..." Yet again, he's suddenly exhausted for no apparent reason. "Need to sleep," he manages. "You stay?" 

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"I stay," he agrees.

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And then nothing much else happens before sundown, except for another Healer-apprentice coming in to bring food and pain-medicine and look at Lionstar's head. 

In the morning, a young man with a courier-bag drops off a note which he says is from Amberdrake, who has other important business to attend to. The note is written in the Haighlei script, and explains that the Council has drafted a message. The content is approximately what General Judeth mentioned. Lionstar is badly hurt and has himself done no wrong to the Haighlei, and White Gryphon would like a suitable apology and amends to be made. There's a matter-of-fact admission that Lionstar's attacker is dead at Sakshemar's hands, and White Gryphon 'would be open to discussions of appropriate justice', but they firmly state that Sakshemar is now under their jurisdiction, a fact which is not up for negotiation. 

At the end, Amberdrake adds a request for Sakshemar to either approve of the draft and pass it on to one of the Healers, or to alert him if it needs further work. 

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He looks over it carefully. It looks—well, foreign. He pictures his father reading it. He pictures what would happen if this was his father's first sight of the news that he'd killed someone again. Already a matter of international diplomacy before it reaches his ears? He'd be furious. He'd push Shalaman to push White Gryphon on repatriating Sakshemar, not so that he could face justice but so that he could be formally declared to have committed no crime—

He asks that someone tell Amberdrake he has a suggestion about the message and wants to talk about it.

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About an hour later (Lionstar is still asleep) Amberdrake arrives. He steps through the curtain; this time, he doesn’t look like he intends to lead Sakshemar elsewhere. He’s thoughtfully brought both of them a hamper of food. 

“You wished to speak?” He rubs his temple and switches languages. “Your tongue will do.”

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He nods.

"It's about the jurisdiction thing," he says. "You want to say your position is that 'no crime happened here', about me killing that person. The phrasing is important. If you don't say that, then you're saying that you get to judge me but you haven't decided how, and that's going to worry my father. Even if you strongly imply you've decided it was no crime, there's a difference between that and using the right formal phrase, and if you look like you're leaving room to maybe decide something else, my father's going to put pressure on Shalaman to take me back so he can make the declaration himself. He doesn't want a criminal for a son."

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Amberdrake makes a face. 

"Your father is...that shape person, then," he says dryly. He frowns more deeply. "I mislike such bindings on our words. However. It is my true opinion that your actions are not deserving punishment, which is same as not crime in a sense. Judeth will not like it either, but. Will see. I suspect you are right here. Repeat the right formal phrase again, please?"

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"'No crime happened here,'" he repeats, making sure his pronunciation is clear. The phrasing is recognizable but distinct from how you might normally translate that sentiment into Haighlei, even for a more generic formal context. "It's judicial speech, that's why it sounds so strange. If it'd make you feel better you can hold whatever your equivalent of a trial would be, first, and then you'd just be translating the conclusions of your court into terms that leave no room for misinterpretation."

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Amberdrake nods, thoughtful. He writes the words down, carefully. 

"I think it would be long to convene our court and interpret our laws for your case," he admits. "I would prefer not delaying this message further. Perhaps a court will be convened – Judeth would prefer it, for being proper – but your case undoubtedly self-defense, and given you saved Lionstar's life as well, not complicated verdict." 

Amberdrake rises, and switches back to Kaled'a'in. "Lionstar, do you need anything? No? If you are sure. Please call for one of the Healing students if you are uncomfortable." 

And he sweeps out of the room. 

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Sakshemar sighs and looks down at his friend. He really doesn't feel any particular pain about killing that person. Amberdrake's skepticism was obvious, but Amberdrake doesn't know Sakshemar. Doesn't know how many time's he's already killed, how easy it is for him to feel another person's pain and revel in it instead of flinching from it—

And now he's remembering the crime he didn't admit to committing. Gods, if a whisper of that got out, his father would want White Gryphon scoured from the land with blood and fire just to stop the rumour from spreading. Naraynan would kill his son with his own hand and then bully the people of White Gryphon into covering it up, if that was what it took to keep people from finding out that Sakshemar not only has a late-blooming mind-Gift but massacred the crew of a small ship with it. And enjoyed doing so.

To his surprise, he finds himself flinching from the memory. It felt good at the time, but now...

It's the thing he was never able to explain to Lionstar past the language barrier. Or maybe it wasn't the language barrier, maybe he just didn't really want to get the point across. Lionstar has all these ideals about making the world a better place, and does things for those reasons, and Sakshemar... Sakshemar just hurts people because he feels like it. Lionstar thought he'd grown out of it, or something, but he very clearly hasn't. He's the same old Sakshemar, and his friend trusts him, and—is he right to? And if he's not, what exactly is Sakshemar supposed to do about it at this point? Lionstar isn't exactly in a state to stop trusting him. His friend is depending on him and he can't just—say 'I'm not who you think I am' and walk away, even though it's true and it matters and he hates the thought of being trusted for false reasons.

Those people may very well have been innocent of all this. He may very well have had no valid practical reason to need them dead except the fact that he was in danger of burning down the forest with the heat of his uncontrollable rage. He doesn't tend to think he believes in justice, but... it feels unfair.

Except that then he thinks about his alternatives—talk to them? Get their side of the story? Judge them, as his father would, except that unlike his father he cares more for the truth than for the family reputation? And he pictures the scene, pictures swallowing his rage and playing lawkeeper and judge at once, wanting to kill them but letting them keep their lives for the sake of some principle—and he feels sick. Wrong. A judge must be merciful, when the law calls for mercy. A judge must be able to stand in court and look down at someone he personally wants to light on fire, and judge them fairly according to the truth of their actions. And he can't do that. He—shouldn't do that. It feels like a betrayal of himself to even think about doing that.

But... really, when it comes right down to it, who would he rather betray? Himself, or Lionstar?

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Lionstar isn't trying to follow the conversation, he's fluent enough in Haighlei now to have caught most of it normally but nothing is normal. He prefers the scenario where he can listen and keep up and maybe even help his friend, who's now as good as alone in a foreign city and culture, trying to thread his way through the consequences of, ultimately, Lionstar's failure. It was his watch. (Lionstar keeps having the sense that he's thinking about it wrong, that Ma'ar wouldn't have been caught up in it like this, and Sakshemar isn't upset with him, but...still.) He can't, anyway; for this, he needs to count on his friend.

(It feels so critical, here and now, that he has a friend here who he can trust. Maybe, possibly, Ma'ar wouldn't have died in a surprise retaliation after failing at everything he had tried to achieve if he'd had a trusted friend at his back.

And so, instead, he lies and tries to piece together the biggest problem that he's facing.

Which is, ultimately, that he doesn't really remember who he is. And it matters. Ma'ar worked for decades, figured out how to live forever, because he cared. About...something. Because he had a plan, a goal, a mission... And Lionstar isn't Ma'ar, not right now. He's a not-especially-skilled teenaged boy whose head that isn't working right, in some strange sense his existence so far is numbered in weeks not years, and – and he has notes, he has what he's said to Sakshemar, he even has the fragments he can still remember, but what if it's not enough, what if by the time his brain is working it's only shards, and he can't put it back together anymore and make a person... He can guess but if he guesses wrong then the person who survives, the person who Sakshemar risked his neck to rescue, won't be Ma'ar, it'll be someone else, and then– 

And then it would all be for nothing, is what part of him whispers. Which isn't completely true, he can get some of a Ma'ar back, or he can just be Lionstar and try to do what he thinks is right, and that would be...better than the alternative...but still losing something. Not enough. Forgetting is its own kind of death. 

His friend has been very quiet. He seems distracted. 

"Sakshemar?" he whispers, beckoning for him to come close. "Need your help. You are the only one here who knows. Who I was before. Need to remember. Not all. Just...why. Core of it. What I am. Something I can...hold onto now...put the rest back in order after. Before I lose it all. I am...afraid..." There are tears in his eyes again. He wants Sakshemar to hold him, not because it really addresses any of his most fundamental problems right now but it makes it feel less like he's dying.

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...yeah. It's really no contest, isn't it.

He hugs his friend.

"You care so much," he murmurs. "About... everyone. Lights in the world, you said." And maybe... maybe Sakshemar needs to start caring like that. He can see how he would, if he wanted to. It wouldn't make him a good person but it might get him close enough to start actually getting better at not murdering people, and then maybe he could solve the problem of Lionstar's misplaced trust by becoming someone worth trusting. Works out better for everyone, that way.

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A flicker of memory. Stars in the sky, silhouette of a tower. The first time he saw Urtho's fortress. 

The first time he found someone else who was trying. It's all blending together – it wasn't a single moment, obviously, it was days and months and years, studying under the Mage of Silence, but he doesn't remember those clearly. For this purpose, for an anchor, the stars and the Tower will do. Lights in the world. Worth saving. 

Except that Urtho is dead. The memory of it hits him again, like a dark stain spreading across the crystal-clear sky. 

"My fault," he whispers, though tears. "The Cataclysm. Not sure...what mistake I made...but maybe I should stop. Not risk breaking anything else. Maybe no one else will do it, fix things, but...maybe still better."

Only, it feels so wrong. It makes him feel sick. Not just because it would be a betrayal of Ma'ar, who fought so hard to come back, to continue his fight. It would be a betrayal of himself, too – just Lionstar, whoever that is, whatever that means. "Sakshemar, I cannot – it would not be me, anymore. Would not be who you befriended, if I were to give up." 

The stars are clear, the lights in the world, but nothing else is. He remembers explaining it to Sakshemar, he's pretty sure – and he remembers feeling determination and certainty, not this hopeless confusion – but none of what he actually said, or thought, or why it felt right and good to grieve but not regret, to put the past behind him and move forward with his next plan. "Sakshemar, I do not know if I can trust me. Help...?"

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"Better to try," he says. "Try, make mistake, learn, try better. Fix things, fix all things, very hard. Lifetimes and lifetimes of work. If you stop first time you make big mistake, you never finish. I trust you. You hurt now, need time to heal. I help. I keep you safe, I take care of you, I fix things, I learn. You say before, you make vow, promise to fix world. You say, if gods think you monster, is their problem, not yours. I also think this. I think—" He frowns slightly, trying to fit ideas into the shapes of words. "I not good like you. I not promise to fix world. But, you my friend. You need help. Is important. Is... most important thing, for me. So. You not give up. You rest, and get better, and I help you, and when you better, we fix things together. Because—if gods think you monster, gods are wrong. I know you. I know you good."

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"I promised," Lionstar agrees. "I made a vow." Another piece to add, hanging it from that single clear image of the stars and the Tower.

It...would be better, some part of him thinks vaguely, if he could check it for himself, if he didn't need to rely on Sakshemar's recounting what an earlier, less broken version of him said, to put himself back together. 

But maybe not. Maybe it is better, not to try to be self-contained. To be able to filter that vision through someone else, to have them agree that it's important. If Ma'ar had allies he could trust, like this, maybe it wouldn't have ended in fire and destruction. 

We fix things together. 

"I will not give up," he agrees. "We will not give up. No matter how many lifetimes it takes."

He wishes he could remember Urtho's face. But Sakshemar can't help with that, it's not like he ever saw the man. Add that loss to an already-too-long list, and...keep going.

Ten minutes of thinking is enough to exhaust him, and he can't keep his eyes open anymore. Still, ten minutes is better than before. "Need to sleep. Your watch?" he says, with a small smile. Sakshemar is taking all of the watches right now. 

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He grins. "My watch," he agrees, hugging him. "Sleep good."

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The rest of the day passes, and the night, and the next day. Lionstar is still sleeping an absurd amount, but he's more lucid during the awake periods, and strong enough to get up and walk the short distance to the privy. When they're alone, he asks Sakshemar more questions, and builds the answers into his memory of the tower. (At one point he asks for his notes, and briefly tries to read them, but his eyes won't focus and it makes him dizzy, so that can wait.) 

Kechara comes to visit them often. At one point, she gifts them each with a dead squirrel that she caught herself, just for them. 

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And then, toward the end of the next day, rapid-fire footsteps approach. Claws, not human feet. A gryphon beak shoves through the curtain, followed by the rest of a gryphon – one much, much larger than Kechara, with feathers as white as the limestone cliffs, and with no hint of her playfulness. Amberdrake is jogging on the creature's heels. 

"Ssakshemar, sson of Naraynan." The gryphon is furious, and his sibilant accent is correspondingly stronger. "We have found ssomething that we ssuspect you know of. We would like an explanation. NOW." 

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His first instinctive reaction is threat! and he moves to put himself between Lionstar and the intruder, hissing and scrabbling for a weapon, but he hasn't been keeping his knife close to hand, stupid—fire, then—but careful, in an enclosed space full of flammable things, have to focus, can't afford to burn too much—

And then his ears belatedly report hearing the sound of speech, and he recognizes Amberdrake, and observes that the gryphon is being aggressive but not outright attacking, and he relaxes fractionally and struggles for enough clarity to decode meaning from the foreign words in their unfamiliar accent.

"What," he snaps, still standing guard over Lionstar's bed and looking ready to take on the gryphon barehanded if necessary.

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“Hey, hey, hey.” It’s Amberdrake’s turn to place himself between the angry gryphon and the two of them, one hand raised in a placating gesture, the other reaching for Sakshemar’s shoulder. His entire manner is so soothing, it’s like he’s projecting with Empathy, but he isn’t - it’s all posture and tone and the look in his eyes. 

”Skandranon Rashkae,” he says, still calmly but with disapproval. “I said gently! Be polite to the young man, please, and do not raise your voice here.”

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This is the point at which Lionstar, still struggling toward wakefulness, sits bolt upright, every muscle going rigid. He doesn’t quite cry out but his eyes flash to Sakshemar, full of mute alarm.

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He growls past Amberdrake at the gryphon and then turns, his anger fading, and sits on Lionstar's bed and hugs him. "All good," he says. "Angry gryphon just be stupid, not attack us. All good. Safe."

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Lionstar's stupid, useless teenaged body doesn't have any Mind-Gifts, and they're in territory that suddenly feels a lot more hostile than it did thirty seconds ago; he has no way of safely conveying why he's reacting the way he is. Which is that Skandranon Rashkae, the Black Gryphon – apparently a white gryphon now – is, one: the scourge of countless battles, the bloodthirsty nightmare coming out of the sky to rip his men to pieces, and, two: almost certainly on the team of assassins that killed Ma'ar shortly after Urtho's Tower went up into flame and lava. 

(He never understood Urtho's fond feelings toward his gryphons; they always seemed savage to him, though Kechara is a very cute exception. Not that his makaar were any better but he had to keep up somehow, when he got the first inklings that Tantara was considering war, and he was damn glad of it after Urtho stabbed him in the back. Amazing how much clearer the memories start coming back once he's terrified for his life.)

But Sakshemar is there, and Amberdrake is standing up for them. Lionstar reminds himself that Skandranon doesn't actually have any way of knowing who he used to be. 

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Skandranon deflates visibly, dropping his forelegs to the ground. "Ssorry, Drake. I am ssimply upsset at our disscovery. You are right, I ought not jump to conclusionss."

He preens his neck-feathers for a moment, and when he goes on, his voice is much clearer and less distorted by the beak. "A few days ago, when you arrived, I placed my Silver Gryphons on the task of finding this expedition. This morning one of my scouts found their ship, moored several miles from here." His feathers puff again, involuntarily, and the gryphon-accent strengthens. "And their sslaughtered bodiess." He resettles himself. "I wondered, perhaps, if you might know anything of this?" 

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Well. That's inconvenient.

If he'd been thinking... but no, when he looks back over his memories of the time since he killed all those people, there's no point at which it would've been safe to go torch the ship. He didn't have the energy to do it right afterward, and once he was back with Lionstar he would've either had to abandon him in that cave for several more hours, or drag him to the shore and back, neither of which looks good from a safety perspective. Lionstar's recovery is his top priority and it wouldn't have been worth taking the chance.

Damn, does he ever wish he'd used fire in the first place, though. If he could've done it that way without risking burning down the forest.

He sighs, meets the gryphon's eyes, and says in his native tongue, "What are you expecting to hear? That I snuck onto their ship with my hunting knife and killed a dozen-odd people? One of them a mage, even? Or maybe I had help, and chose to send them to murder a bunch of strangers instead of helping me bring Lionstar here safe? You know what, if it'll simplify your life politically, fine. I hate lying but this is bigger than me. Tell everyone I killed them. It'll upset my father but it might still be a better idea than letting people think it might've been one of yours."

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Lionstar quickly turns his face into Sakshemar's tunic, hoping that they'll think he's just hiding in fright from the large, upset gryphon. Really, he's trying to keep his expression from giving anything away. 

Of course Sakshemar wasn't going to rest until he had made sure there were no more potential assassins who could find them. Moving to a new camp wouldn't have been enough to satisfy him – correctly, in Lionstar's opinion, Sakshemar isn't as accustomed to moving in deep forest and with an unconscious friend in his arms, he would've left an unmistakeable trail right to their new hideout. There's no way in the world he would sleep before taking care of that threat. 

Maybe he did kill them all with the hunting knife. Lionstar's seen him take out full-grown wyrsa that way. More likely, he somehow used his Gifts in aid. They've literally practiced that move – fear, to paralyze an enemy, keep them pinned where they can easily be dispatched. 

...But Sakshemar can't project an emotion without feeling it, and Lionstar knows him. Fear wouldn't have been foremost in his mind. He has a sudden, awful guess at what his friend might have done instead. 

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Skandranon blinks. Clearly he understands some Haighlei, but isn't as fluent as Amberdrake, who pats Sakshemar's shoulder reassuringly and then steps away from the bed to whisper a translation in the gryphon's ear – pausing to aim an unreadable sideways look at Sakshemar. 

"Ah. I ssee." Skandranon shifts his feet, claws scratching at the tile; it's an odd look on a gryphon. "Unfortunately our message to your King hass already gone out yessterday. Would that we had a Truth-reader as your people do, ssince I find your attitude odd." He says the approximate translation to Kaled'a'in rather than using the Haighlei term. "If you were not the killer, I hessitate to leave a murderer unmolessted in our territory. My people will invesstigate the sscene further." 

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"—really? You don't have Truthsayers at all?" he says, genuinely surprised. "I knew you didn't treat Gifts the way the Haighlei do but I didn't think the Gifts themselves were that different. Though I guess that explains why you didn't drag me in front of one first thing." He frowns. "Speaking of which, I'm still not impressed with you for barging in here the way you did. Even if you were right that I'd done something, Lionstar didn't, and it's not fair to scare him like that just because you're angry with me. He's hurt and he needs rest. You should treat your people better than that."

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Amberdrake answers, in very level Haighlei. “Suspect training and not Gifts differ. An Empath such as I can of course sense emotion not matching words,” again, his eyes briefly narrow, but out of both Skandranon and Lionstar’s view, “but none have technique to perfectly find lies.” 

And he lifts his spread hands in apology, switching back to Kaled’a’in. “Lionstar, I am sorry for startling you. As Skan pointed out to me, were your friend guilty,” his eyes flick back to Sakshemar but his voice is unwavering, “his off-guard response might be telling.” A chuckle. “And telling indeed it was, in a different way - his first move was to protect you. A good friend indeed.”

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Sakshemar smiles. Of course he protected Lionstar.

His smile fades into a more thoughtful, serious look; he seems almost on the point of saying something, and then he glances at Skandranon and frowns slightly and doesn't.

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Lionstar notices the second sideways glance, and Sakshemar’s odd pause. He wishes his head would work, let him figure out what’s going on, but wishing won’t help and neither will frustration. 

“Sakshemar is the best friend I have ever had,” he says, as clearly as he can.

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Awwww. He hugs Lionstar some more. "Same you," he says in his awkward Kaled'a'in.

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Skandranon shuffles his claws some more, mutters something, and leaves. Amberdrake watches the two of them for a moment longer, smiling a little, but with an intent look, more confused than suspicious. Then he nods to Sakshemar and leaves as well. 

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Lionstar pulls his friend close, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Did you?” Belated pause. “Anyone nearby?”

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"No one," he murmurs back; and then he hesitates, and continues in Haighlei. "You understand, I never touched that boat. And if even the faintest whisper of a rumour gets back to the Empire suggesting I might have done it without touching the boat..." He shakes his head. "Blood will be spilled over it. I don't see that making things any better for anyone." Wryly, "Wish I'd just burned the damned thing, but I wasn't sure I could avoid taking the forest with it."

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Lionstar is foggy enough that it takes him a few seconds to parse what Sakshemar is saying even though he was already thinking it. 

"Understand," he hisses back, also in Sakshemar's tongue, the words aren't coming easily to him right now but he can sort of manage. "Angry. For me. Easy use that. Less easy fire." It's known that strong emotions can make it easier to use Gifts to their full power, and Sakshemar's power is...considerable. "Could wish different," lights in the world, however many of them, gone and yet again it's indirectly his fault, "but...glad alive. Glad friend, protect me. Safe."

He shakes his head. "Hope not you trouble, because me. Want help." A twitch of a smile. "If trouble wait, I better." 

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He smiles, and hugs him again. "Friend," he murmurs.

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There is not, in fact, any trouble that night. 

Or the next day, unless one counts the minor incident when Lionstar first tries to walk to the bathhouse and Kechara, in a fit of excitement, almost knocks him over before the Healing student can intervene. 

Three entire days pass without any kind of trouble, and Lionstar is sitting up in bed, reading his notes (he can do it for almost five minutes at a time now before the headache gets too bad), which he quickly shoves under the mattress when someone knocks. 

It's Amberdrake, with General Judeth. Amberdrake smiles at both of them. Judeth doesn't smile at all. "We need to talk," she says. 

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"Talk what?"

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"Some news we've just received." General Judeth leans against the wall, arms crossed, and aims a piercing look at Sakshemar. "Skandranon's Silver Gryphons explored the, er, murder scene in more depth. I'm told they have certain techniques for piecing together the events of a crime, by looking at the position of bodies and weapons, and blood spatters and such. Anyway. They're quite confident that no one embarked or disembarked from that boat – that is, that the explorers, for some reason I can't fathom, decided to murder each other. Their first thought was mutiny and an even split siding with the captain, but there's no clear sign of ranks. They just all turned on each other at once." 

Judeth pauses, rubs her neck. She looks unhappy and stressed and tired. "You're our resident cultural expert. Is there anything you can think of to explain this – anything at all? Some taboo that might be violated? Drugs? I'm at a loss here. It doesn't make sense." 

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Amberdrake, who's been pacing with his eyes on the floor, pauses at the foot of the bed. "Skan suspects you, Sakshemar. I told him not to be silly." But he catches Sakshemar's eye, holds his gaze, and mouths words in Haighlei, his back turned at an angle where Judeth can't see. We must speak. Later. Alone. 

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He tilts his head slightly in acknowledgment of Amberdrake's message, but shakes it at Judeth's question. "I not know," he says. "Nothing do this. No sense, yes, I think same."

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Judeth sighs. "Didn't really expect you to, lad. Bad business all round. None of this bodes well." She shares a hard-to-read look with Amberdrake, and turns to leave. 

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"Well, then, young man." Amberdrake's voice is pitched to carry a little more than it needs to be, and jovial, though his eyes are nothing but. "Watching you with your friend – you are no a Healer, but some other things shine through. Have you considered training as a kestra'chern? It would be my pleasure to discuss this with you, if you do have interest." 

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Judeth shoves her head back through the curtain to make a face at him. "Really, Drake, must you always be recruiting?" And then she's gone. 

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He blinks, surprised, and answers as though there is no subtext whatsoever. "I haven't—really? Me?"

But then, with another slight tilt of his head, he switches languages to make his answer clear to listeners. "If you think, then yes." He glances at his friend. "If not too much time away from Lionstar, while he need me."

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“I will be all right,” Lionstar assures him. (Internally, he’s seething with curiosity and worry, but he can wait to find out.)

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Amberdrake smiles at him, and then claps a hand on Sakshemar’s shoulder. The smile fades as he turns away from Lionstar’s line of sight. “Good, then come with me - we can speak in my private rooms.”

He steers Sakshemar out of the Healers’ building, down the crushed-shells street, to a nearby cottage-like dwelling. It’s cozily furnished inside, with pleasant rugs and soft padded chairs. Amberdrake nudges Sakshemar down into one of them.

”You care greatly about your friend,” he says. “You must have been very upset and angry when ill befell him.” And then, making eye contact and with his hand brushing Sakshemar’s shoulder, he switches languages. “Enough to remove the threat to him from a distance?”

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...he shakes his head. "I'd say you don't know what you're asking me, but you at least know enough not to let anyone else know you're thinking it," he says. "You can't let it get out to my people that you even considered for a moment the idea that I might have done such a thing. Not if you like not being at war with them. I can't meaningfully tell you that I didn't, because there is no possibility I might admit it if I had, not with the consequences that would bring. I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to think about it, I want to live in a world where you didn't just ask me that question."

He thinks about those consequences—the horror and revulsion his people would feel, the way they would cry for blood until King Shalaman had to go to war no matter how much he might personally like the people of White Gryphon—and shivers.

"Rather you decide I killed them all with my own hands, and send me home to be executed for it, than take another step down the road of suggesting I might have done it any other way."

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Amberdrake nods, satisfaction and deep sadness warring in his eyes, and releases Sakshemar’s shoulder. “No Truthsayer here, but Empath, I see enough.” 

He pulls over a cushion, and sits on the floor, so his head is lower than Sakshemar’s. “No intention of war,” he says. “I know enough and I am not stupid. Will not share to anyone. These rooms are a kestra’chern’s. Well shielded, no one hear, no one ever consider to eavesdrop. No one else will ever think it, certainly not Skandranon.”

A bitter twitch of a smile. “Empathy is not an offensive Gift, my dear friend Skan is not known for creativity - he lacks the imagination. I...do not. My goal here is the safety and wellness of my people. Among them Lionstar.” A pause; his jaw works. “And you,” he adds finally.

He leans forward, intent. ”And so I need know truth, even if never speak again. Was it loss of control, so training will remove danger? Or was it purposeful? You are no monster, Sakshemar - it was no convenient lie to say I would take you as student. I want to help you, so that you help Lionstar and others, and I...need know you are safe to have in my city.”

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...fine. Fine.

"I'd never decide to kill that way," he says. "Not unless whatever I was facing was worse than the chaos I'd be responsible for if I got caught. I'd do it to stop the world from ending, maybe; I'm not sure I would for anything less. But—I have a strong Gift and a bad temper and that's a poor combination." He sighs. "I've killed before. My first lion hunt, when I was ten—a servant's child stole my knife, and I took it back, and then I was still angry. My father told everyone the boy was mauled by a lion. Looked enough like it that no one questioned him. When I told Lionstar, he said he'd never known me to be anything but kind, and maybe I'd grown past it. Then this happened, and I found out I hadn't. Am I safe to have in your city? I don't know. I want to be. But wanting doesn't make it so."

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Amberdrake nods again, heavily. “I see. I am...relieved, I think. I will make it known that you and Lionstar are battle-shy, after your ordeal, and would be well if no one startled you. That ought soften some risks.”

He stares past Sakshemar. “And the future? Wanting does not make it so, no, but...offers a path. And you did wield considerable control of both Gift and emotion, did not harm Lionstar. Emotions are to train as Gifts are. Some of kestra’chern’s training is this. If you wish not to be threat again, to city or friends, would be well to practice this at least.”

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"If there really is a way to learn how to control my feelings, I'd be stupid not to try it."

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Amberdrake smiles. ”First exercise, then. You need learn to clear your mind of thought and emotion, that might quickly call on this. I wish you close your eyes, sit and focus on breath. If you notice mind drifting, other thoughts or feelings, return it to your breath.” He stretches past Sakshemar to retrieve an hourglass of sand. “We try for ten minutes now. First time is hard, easier with practice.”

He flips the glass. “Start now.”

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Well that sounds excruciating, but if it helps...

He gives it an honest effort. By minute three, he's tense with the strain of keeping himself still so long. He can't focus on his breath because he needs that concentration to stop himself from jumping to his feet and pacing.

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"Stop." Warmth in Amberdrake's voice. "Misery is not what I wish you practice. You find it hard be still? I will think on what instead. For now, do what you need, feel comfortable in your body." The smile spreads to a grin as he gestures around the room. "Jump, do somersaults, roll around on rug by fire – I recommend, very good bearskin. Whatever helps relax." 

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—he laughs. "Is it? Maybe I will. But no, if the sitting still doesn't matter and all I need to do is not be thinking—"

—then he should dance. He gets up and does just that. As soon as he's in motion, everything feels better. There's no music but he can keep a rhythm without it, and he does, whirling through complex patterns of movement with a focus and serenity he was totally unable to achieve while sitting still.

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Amberdrake watches silently, still smiling and occasionally chuckling under his breath, until the hourglass runs dry. He claps his hands. "Good. Stop – but need not sit. We work up to that, I think." His expression is amused and thoughtful at the same time. "Fascinating. I will need remember this if I meet other children who cannot sit still. How do you feel, now, in your body and in your mind?" 

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"—better," he says, a little surprised by how much better. He remembers dance lessons as something he wanted more of than his father was willing to allow, remembers how good it felt to move and not have to worry about anything but movement, but it's never occurred to him to try dancing when he was upset and see if it calmed him down.

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"Good. Very, very good." Amberdrake rises as well. "I think this be your practice now. A candlemark each day, to start – it need not be all at once. I wish that this become a state familiar to you, first, before we begin other exercises. May I?" He reaches to touch Sakshemar's shoulder again, and closes his eyes for a long thirty seconds. 

"Ah," he says, opening them. "Before I return you to Lionstar, I think we need work on shielding. You have some self-teaching? You shield at all, but clumsily. It will help your control of emotions greatly if you are not taking in those of others also. Now that you are calmed, I will show you." 

And he'll lead Sakshemar through centering and grounding, observing and offering gentle prompts and corrections, and then through weaving a properly grounded shield. Which he can test by projecting with his own Gift and observing the results. (If Sakshemar gets frustrated, Amberdrake can tell him to dance for a minute or two until he's calm again.) 

"How do you feel?" he says finally, standing back. It's probably been a candlemark by now. "Tired?" 

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He follows along with the lesson, but he's a little hesitant at first, thinking about something.

"Yes," he admits, when Amberdrake asks. Then he pauses, with a thoughtful frown. "...Is it really true, that feeling other people's feelings makes it harder to keep hold of mine? I can see how it would, I guess, but... I think there's ways it makes it easier, too."

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Amberdrake looks thoughtful again, frowning a little. 

"Curious to hear how you think it easier," he says finally, "though I have guesses. In any case, best to have a choice. Enough control that YOU decide. Can shield lightly, feel emotions but not be overwhelmed by them, or shield fully if you need no distraction. That is my opinion." 

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He nods slowly. "Yes, that's reasonable."

...he doesn't even have the excuse of needing to say it in a foreign language and yet somehow it's still really difficult to put this concept into words.

"It's—easier to see someone else's perspective when it's right there in my head. And easier not to get caught up in my own feelings when I can think about someone else's. And—I don't think I'd have calmed down so quickly, when your friend Skandranon did his stupid thing, if I hadn't been able to feel that there was no serious threat there."

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Amberdrake's brows lift. "And easier to shift priorities, if you feel your friend is afraid and needing comfort, and to calm him you need be calm yourself? I have seen you make that motion often, not only when Skan was being a–" he frowns for a moment and switches to Kaled'a'in, "a complete ass." 

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He giggles, and helpfully provides a translation. "But yes. That too."

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"Hmm. You make a point." Amberdrake glances at the window. "Time to return to Lionstar, I think. Practice, and come to me if you have difficulty. Otherwise, I will teach you again in some days, next steps." 

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Sakshemar will find Lionstar asleep, with Kechara curled up beside his pillow, preening his hair with her beak. "Sakshemar!" she whispers. "Friend, good to see!" 

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"Same you!" he whispers back, sitting down by the side of the bed. What a good cute cuddlesome friend.

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A while later, Lionstar wakes. His face lights up when he sees Sakshemar, then grows serious.

”I need some time by myself,” he tells Kechara, gently shooing her out. “Come back tonight?” He waits until she’s gone and switches languages. “What Amberdrake want? Is trouble?”

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"He made a guess. I told him to unmake the guess and never speak of it again. Didn't say either way if he was right, but he came to his own conclusions. He does actually want me to train as a kestra'chern—says it might help me control my temper."

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Lionstar spends a moment parsing that, and then frowns, and chews on it for a while.

”Not like,” he says finally, keeping his voice low. “Maybe not trouble, but, too close.” And he can think now but not quickly or clearly; the possible ramifications are too many and complicated for him to keep track in his head. And it seems like the worst idea to commit this topic to paper, even vaguely and in cipher.

He shrugs. ”Is this way. He teach you? It help?”

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He nods. "Yeah. It helps a surprising amount, actually."

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"I glad." He switches back to Kaled'a'in; his head is still foggy enough that it's draining speaking in Haighlei for long. "The Healer who came today said I ought try a longer walk today. Would you come in case I need help again?" His physical stamina is improving faster than his mental stamina, and much faster than his ability to use his Gift at all – the last attempt at a tiny mage-light had him curled up in a ball in agony for hours, and now he's wary to try again – but he's still tiring quickly and occasionally has dizzy spells for no reason. 

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"Of course."

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The walk goes fine; when Lionstar feels faint at one point, he can call out right away, Sakshemar is there to catch and steady him, and they make it back to his bed. (Lionstar immediately falls asleep for the next several hours). 

The next few days pass uneventfully. Amberdrake checks in on Sakshemar's progress a few times, and suggests a couple of exercises: that he try just walking while entirely focused on his body the way he is with dance, or with tapping his fingers or toes. Things he can do in public, less obviously. Lionstar isn't well but he's doing better; he can read for ten minutes at a stretch and write without the letters wandering all over the page. He's less irritable and easily startled, more like his usual self.

This is the point at which Amberdrake comes by, this type accompanied again by General Judeth, and looking very serious. 

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Oh boy, what is it now.

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"Not an emergency," Amberdrake quickly clarifies. "Judeth?" She takes a scroll from her tunic and passes it to him. "We received a return message from your people in Khimbata – signed by the King, though I do not know that it was written by him. It is mostly not concerning, though it seems they wish to quibble with the request for reparations. I simply wanted your help in interpreting it – I am fluent enough, but not in the formal phrasings, and I wish to avoid misinterpretation." 

He unrolls the parchment and passes it over for Sakshemar to read. 

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He squints at the page, reads it over, then reads it over again.

"Oh, Shalaman does like you," he says, raising his eyebrows slightly. "This is—more friendly than I expected. Let me think how to translate..."

He frowns at the note, lost in thought, for a few seconds.

Then: "Most of this I think means what you'd expect it to. This, though, here," he indicates a particularly elaborate sentence, "this is regal speech. He is saying... ugh, there's so much context to this... when he reminds you that the one who did the crime is dead, the implication is that by most standards his kingdom's obligation to yours ends there, and if you want anything from him you'll have no justification in seeking it by force. But then he says he grieves with you for the harm done—and he uses the personal and not the regal form of 'grieve', which could be that he feels very friendly toward you or could just be that he didn't think you'd recognize the regal form, it's almost never used outside state funerals—and that means he is open to being convinced about the reparations, as long as you spend a good long while coaxing them out of him so nobody thinks he's weak for giving in too soon. He's right to worry, everyone knows he's softhearted for a king. Anyway, then he says he's glad justice was done, which is the closest he can get to apologizing at this point, and he formally acknowledges your ruling that I did no crime, which I bet my father pressured him into because even Shalaman shouldn't be so eager to set the precedent of letting a foreign people haul his subjects into their own courts without consulting him first. Yeah, the very next sentence more or less says that this is a very special circumstance and normally if a Haighlei kills another Haighlei on your land you should let the Haighlei deal with it."

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Amberdrake relaxes visibly. (Judeth doesn’t; she still looks tense and unhappy.)

”I hoped so,” he says in Haighlei. “Good to hear you confirm my hopes.” And back to his own tongue, glancing at Judeth again. “It is not over yet, of course, but perhaps this business will come to a peaceful end after all.”

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Judeth scowls. “There’s an unexplained boat full of dead bodies. Which Shalaman doesn’t know about, and we still don’t have a good way to tell him since we don’t know what happened. He could change tack rather quickly.”

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"If you lucky maybe he say, all on boat, Haighlei kill Haighlei, is problem for Haighlei not you. I not think you so lucky. But maybe."

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And they stand awkwardly in silence for a little while.

"Well," Judeth says finally, "not like I can do anything about it now. Young man, you think about this. We're not done here." And she walks away. 

 

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Amberdrake, also, stands silently for a moment, but he looks thoughtful. 

"If you are not busy," he says finally, "I would actually like to speak with both of you. At my office. Separately, but I think it best that Lionstar have assistance for the walk – Sakshemar, would it be all right with you to wait and practice your exercises while I talk with him?" 

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He nods. "Yes, all right."

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Lionstar is a little nervous – he's not sure what Amberdrake wants from him or whether he's at all prepared to fend off questions – but at least he's feeling moderately clearheaded today, and if there are hard questions he can always feign tiredness or claim he has a headache. 

He glances at Sakshemar for reassurance, and then carefully gets out of bed, leaning on his friend's arm for balance when he stumbles. 

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Sakshemar is very steady and good to lean on.

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They reach Amberdrake's cottage. It has a garden out back, with a pleasant little square of crushed shells swept smooth in the middle. Amberdrake points Sakshemar toward it. "Might you practice here for a time while I speak with your friend?" He takes Lionstar's arm. "We will not be long." 

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Lionstar casts a helpless backward glance at his friend – he doesn't especially want to be stuck alone with Amberdrake and whatever it is the man wants – but then squares his shoulders and smiles determinedly at Sakshemar. 

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He gives Lionstar a reassuring smile and nods to Amberdrake.

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About twenty minutes later, Amberdrake returns, with Lionstar following. He looks a bit tired and shaken, but he attempts a smile as he makes his way to a nearby bench – unaided, though with Amberdrake hovering nearby.

"I will leave you two here for a time to talk." Smiling warmly, Amberdrake crosses over to a curtain and pulls it open, revealing a pool of gently steaming water under a canvas covering. "Lionstar, you might soak here afterward. Sakshemar, please come to me when you are done, I have some new exercises to show you." 

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Sakshemar gravitates immediately to Lionstar's bench to hug him.

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Lionstar just leans silently into his friend's side for a long moment. 

"Everything is fine," he says finally, keeping his voice to a near-whisper. "He apologized for not noticing sooner that my home situation was...troubled. Which might have been awkward, since I barely retain any memories of it, but I nodded and smiled and said I understood, and he was satisfied. He said that I seemed different." A crooked smile. "I told him that having a good friend changes many things. He...seemed to think that was quite wise, and was pleased. Then he asked how I was feeling, and I said much better except that reading is difficult, and that my memories from before the injury are still poor. He examined my head with his Gift and said that I am healing as well as can be expected, and that some memories may never come back fully. Hopefully that will cover for any future lapses." 

Then he's silent for a moment, his expression slowly darkening. 

"...I worry about my Gift," he whispers, barely audible. "I have tried to use it a little, several times, and...it hurts very badly, and does not work. I am not sure what to do. Amberdrake does not know that I am a mage, since he is not a mage himself to see it, and Lionstar had revealed it to no one before running away."  

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"Could tell," he murmurs back, thoughtfully. "I think safe. Maybe he can help."

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Lionstar nods slowly, staring into the distance. "I will think on it," he says finally. "Perhaps." He smiles weakly. "In any case, I am all right now. You can go have your lesson." 

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He hugs him again, and nods to the pool. "You need help before I go?"

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"No, I can manage." Lionstar pauses. "...Perhaps you could be nearby and watch, in case I am wrong." 

He gets up, carefully, and makes his way over – he grabs at the pole supporting the awning for balance, but manages to sit down without incident. "Good now." 

 

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Amberdrake is waiting for Sakshemar inside. 

"Good to see you," he says in Haighlei. "First, how is practice? Anything you notice?" 

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"It's... easier to think," he says. "Or, I don't know, not exactly, but it feels that way. I have better control of my Gift and my feelings, too. And I know you said to try some things that aren't dancing but all of them are worse, except sometimes I can make it work walking or running or running." Those are two different words for running, but if there's a difference in their meanings no one has explained it to Amberdrake. The first is more common. "Hard to find anywhere to run," second word, "around here though."

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"I see." Amberdrake looks at him for a time. "Glad it help with control – something I expect, but happy it works in truth. What thing would you need, make 'run' work?" He uses the second word. Is different from 'run' how?" First word. 

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"Oh—running2 is a specific kind of running1, the kind for long hunts on open ground where what matters is that you can do it for half a day at a time and not how fast you are in the first few minutes. There's not much open ground in these parts, definitely not half a day's run of it. I tried climbing, since there's all sorts of places for that, but I think I'd need to be better at climbing to make that work properly. Maybe the answer is just to get better at climbing."

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Amberdrake makes a 'hmm' noise, and stares thoughtfully past Sakshemar's shoulder. "CIimbing, perhaps," he says finally. "Know a person can teach, maybe. And, can run2 on the road up, perhaps?" He gestures vaguely in the upward direction. 

Then he looks thoughtful again. "Other question," he says finally, "before I teach new exercises. Lionstar. He...seem different with you, now than before?" He's frowning. "Different from what I remember him, most definitely. I am unsure if is from head wound or from you." 

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"...He's changed since I first met him, some," he says. "Hard to know for sure how much, because when I first met him I didn't know him as well as I do now. The head wound is definitely also part of it. But again, hard to know how much of that is that hitting his head changed him and how much is that life is very different when you can't do anything."

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Another listening noise, another longish silence. Amberdrake is obviously thinking hard about something, a frown-line flickering and disappearing between his brows, but what is on his mind is opaque to Sakshemar. 

Finally, Amberdrake shakes himself a little. "To move on. I wish to try something new." 

He looks Sakshemar in the eye for a moment, levelly, waiting for his acknowledgement – and then his body language transforms in a fraction of a second and he leaps up from his chair, snarling, two daggers suddenly winking into his hands from nowhere. 

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He's too startled to think, and so reacts on reflex; and his reflex is to meet violence with violence, tackling Amberdrake to the floor and going for his wrists to either pin them down or take away his weapons—

—and then he catches up with himself and he's furious with Amberdrake for betraying him like that—

—and then he catches up with himself again and he's even more furious, because the extent to which he had any trust in Amberdrake to begin with is fairly limited and therefore so is Amberdrake's ability to meaningfully betray him, but this was so obviously a test and that's somehow even worse—the deception, the presumption of trying something like this with what must be an expectation of forgiveness, the erosion of his ability to treat White Gryphon like a safe place to let down his guard—there's more layers underneath that, too, but in the first instant of realization all he has time for is the feeling of being lied to and presumed on and having that fragile tentative sense of safety torn away. He snarls.

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Several things happen in quick succession. 

First, a crystal amulet at Amberdrake's throat, previously half-hidden by the neck of his robe, starts to glow, and a faintly visible shimmering barrier snaps into place over his body, resembling one of Lionstar's mage-barriers except it hugs closely to his skin. It tingles slightly but doesn't actually interfere with Sakshemar's grip on the man's wrists.

Second, the daggers wink back out of existence, and Amberdrake opens empty hands. 

Third, he drops his mental shields. Entirely. He isn't projecting, but the surface glimpse of emotion is calm, and apologetic. 

"You are welcome to punch me," he says, still level, all sign of aggression gone from his face. "I much deserve it, I know. The shield-amulet stop a blade, but not that." 

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At first he's still snarling, still furious.

He could kill him. A shield that will stop a blade but not a punch is not enough to stop Sakshemar from killing someone. He could kill him, and there's a level on which he wants to—

—and he won't.

He struggles with that, for a moment; struggles to keep hold of his temper, struggles to even believe that he should. Struggles to remember the reasons why he decided not to hurt people, and the reasons why hurting Amberdrake in particular, in this particular moment, would be a colossally stupid thing to do.

And then—he doesn't, in fact, punch him.

He lets go, and stands up; and he projects, forcefully and precisely, what that felt like. Startlement-violence-betrayal-anger, and the more complex emotions that followed: the disorienting feeling of untangling deception, the bitter sting of being expected to extend forgiveness for an unprovoked attack, the echoing instability of being reminded again that sudden violence can come at any moment no matter how tempting it is to let yourself think you're safe. The rage and the violent urge to make the object of that rage suffer, and the pain of holding that back, the self-betrayal that makes even the inside of his own head feel hostile and alien, makes him feel small and weak and unworthy and wrong the way one who commits a grave crime is wrong, guilty for the transgression of mercy; and the lost uncertain feeling of trying to remember why he's doing this terrible thing, and the things he remembered, when he did: compassion, commitment, the desire to be worthy of a friend's trust.

And, after all that, a final layer—the tired recognition that, yet again, someone has decided to approach him not as a person to be communicated with but as a problem to be solved; the resigned frustration, only faintly painful, at a world where speaking honestly with people never seems to be enough and someone always feels the need to work through or around people instead of with them. The sharp bite of anger at having his violent instincts toyed with like that, being provoked for the sake of provocation, attacked just to see what he'd do.

"I not hit you," he growls in Kaled'a'in, letting the projection fade. "If I hit you, I do because I want you hurt. I not want do things because this. So I not hit you."

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Amberdrake lies on the floor for a while, blinking, looking very stunned. 

Eventually, he picks himself up and collapses back into the chair. He looks tired. Tired and sad and guilty and conflicted; he's not trying to hide any of it. 

"I am sorry," he says finally, his voice shaky. "Know an apology to mean little once an act is done – I do not expect forgiveness, not now, perhaps ever. Was unfair and cruel – and, it seems, unnecessary, though I thought it the most accurate test, most like reality. Now I think perhaps was lazy." He pauses for a while, chewing on his lip in obvious thought. "Sad truth, world is not safe. Even my own city, maybe not safe. I feared... Some youngsters, think it funny to attack stranger. Your people not well-liked. And Lionstar, not..." he frowns again, searching for words, "not popular, here. His new friend, seen the same way. When I heard rumours, I try to intervene, but I still feared... Their safety, and yours." 

A slight, weary smile. "They cannot take you down in fight. Likely, nor I. Maybe not Judeth – maybe not Skandranon even. Your are skilled, and vigilant, you have combat reflexes – if stupid children pick fight with you, they pay the price. You need not fear that, I think. For you, I fear consequences of our laws." He shakes his head. "Less now. I think, even if a stupid child you do not know is to attack you by night in the streets, neither of you be hurt." A weak chuckle. "Do THAT to them, and they definitely leave you alone after. Very effective. And I am to do my best to ensure it never happens, but...have learned that lesson before." 

He's silent for another long moment. 

"Now," he says eventually, "I wish you to try to calm down, with the techniques you know." 

 

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He growls again, quietly, under his breath; and then he dances. He's not actively projecting anymore, but he is as usual not very tightly shielded, either, so the slow progression from fury to calm is easy to follow.

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Amberdrake watches him, still weary, and conflicted, with the look of a man chewing on something that's both bitter and very frustrating to swallow. 

Finally, he nods. "I wish we practice that today," he says. "Anger to calm – I will not surprise you again, it would not work a second time, but I think perhaps there are things you can recall to bring that emotion. First..." Another long pause. "I wronged you, using that test. Even I thought it was the best path, still failed you, and perhaps I was wrong to think it necessary at all. If you can tell me in words what I could have done – no, how I could have been thinking differently – to be more fair, I think I am to learn something from this." A shrug, unsmiling. "Perhaps I learn what I did wrong to your friend Lionstar as well." 

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Sakshemar nods, slowly, thoughtfully.

"I think... I told you, before, that I want to be safe to have in your city. I meant it. You could've asked me how to make sure of that, and I might not have known, but I would've given it an honest effort. And instead you... acted as though I didn't have anything to offer, as though the only way to get what you wanted was past me or through me. People do that a lot, I think. I guess in some ways it's easier."

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Amberdrake sighs, heavily. 

"You are right, people do," he says, finally. "Feels...simpler, often. I hoped not to be like that – is failure for a kestra'chern, to treat people as...items...in such way." (He's clearly hunting for words; he uses a term that usually refers to merchandise or trade goods, and then makes a face.) "I wish I believe my younger self would not fail this way. Now? I see I fail over and over. Leader on Council, easy to...feel I to lack time, or will, to take less easy path. And to..." He spends a longer time searching for words. "Find reason? I want word... 'Rationalize.'." He slips in the Kaled'a'in term. "To tell self why is to be kestra'chern's role, do what client needs, not wants. But, to do this, must see client as a person. Is dangerous thinking if my other duties to weigh on it, and is inevitable now they do." 

He fidgets with his hands for a while, expressions flickering, still mostly unshielded. 

"I can say thing about you now," he says finally. "Whatever you to feel inside – you ARE what your friend Lionstar believes you, I think. If not before, now yes. Betrayed by an adult you began trusting, you to answer by questioning your own anger and urge to retaliate, and instead show what you feel and explain lesson of what mistakes I make. Lesson I for certain lacked wisdom to see at your age. So, I was wrong to see you as child." A brief, sad smile. "More reason I believe you to be a promising kestra'chern." 

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"I don't know if you're right," he says slowly. "I hope you are. I want... to grow out of being a murderer."

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"Wanting is the most of it, I think," Amberdrake says softly. "In any case, we work on control. As I said before – this is one done in your own mind; I am to observe and speak if I notice anything. If you are willing: summon a memory that will bring strong emotions, ride those to a point, and deliberately calm yourself however you see fit." 

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There is a source of strong emotions conveniently located in the recent past, where he should have no trouble bringing it to mind! He uses it. He dances.

It's much easier, calming himself when he was in control of his feelings to begin with.

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"Good," Amberdrake says. "Try a different memory? A different flavour of emotion, ideally." 

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Meanwhile, outside in the pool, a familiar shape bounds up. "Lionstar! Feel better? Look better!" 

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Lionstar is pleased to see Kechara, and happy to let her curl up on the side of the pool beside him, and use her neck as a support to help pull himself halfway out. He's getting a bit too warm. 

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He thinks a bit, and then tries the same trick he used when he was testing fear projection on Lionstar.

It takes him a couple of seconds to make himself get up and dance, but when he does, the feeling melts away pretty fast.

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"Very good!" Amberdrake sounds genuinely impressed. "How are you feeling? Tired yet? You might go to Lionstar now, or stay if there is anything you wish speak of." 

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"Only a little," he says. "I think I'll see how Lionstar's doing."

Off to inspect the friend! Aww, Kechara is there. That is good.

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"...Are you all right?" Lionstar says, reaching for his arm. 

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"...Amberdrake wanted to find out what happens if I'm attacked by surprise. He lived, and apologized afterward."

He squeezes Lionstar's hand, and adds in Kaled'a'in for Kechara's benefit, "Yes, I all right."

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“Oh.” This seems like...not a good topic to be discussing in Amberdrake’s backyard. “Ready to go back?”

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Nod nod.

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Lionstar is pretty steady on his feet. And quiet, deep in thought, though he makes some response to Kechara's eager attempts at conversation.

"I think I need some quiet time," he tells her when they reach his room. "Come play again tonight?" He looks past Sakshemar, frowning. "I should've asked Amberdrake about staying somewhere else – I'm not really ill, anymore, I don't need to be in their Healers' ward. But I...don't think I'd be welcome back where I lived before." More to the point, both the residual fragments of former-Lionstar's memories and his own emotions are firmly against the idea. 

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"Yes," Sakshemar agrees. "We should find better place. Ask him later maybe."

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Lionstar sits down on the bed and massages his temples. Trying to concentrate still gives him a headache after a while. 

"Worry about my power," he says in Haighlei. "Can try to fix alone, but..." He shrugs. "You still trust Amberdrake, after he try attack you? Trust to ask him this?" 

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"He agreed very quickly afterward that it was a stupid thing for him to do and he should have trusted me more. Asked me to tell him what I thought he'd done wrong, how he could've been thinking better so he would've realized what a bad idea it was ahead of time. I think... nobody's ever going to do no stupid things at all, so it's good to know that somebody's serious about learning from the stupid things they do."

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That's something, anyway. "I...try to figure out if can fix it tonight? Otherwise, go tomorrow?" 

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"Sounds like a good plan to me."

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"You watch if anyone come?" Lionstar closes his eyes and focuses. "I try a little." Something very easy, for now – a tiny boring mage-light, nothing more – something feels off, not right, but he's centered and grounded properly and at some point he needs to just push through the resistance and see what's on the other side. So, try

–Lionstar lifts his hands and there's a flicker of white light between then, and then ow ow ow and he's dizzy and nauseated. He clutches at his forehead, sagging sideways. "Sakshemar, help–"

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He's right there almost as soon as Lionstar finishes saying his name. "What happen? Try not good?"

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"Ouch - hurts..." This is the hardest he's tried to push it so far and it was, apparently, not a good plan. "Feel bad, sick..." 

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"Want water? Hugs? Healer?"

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Answering requires one, thinking, and two, saying words, neither of which are trivial right now. He sort of flops against Sakshemar, hopefully this is a nonverbal way of indicating that hugs, or at least being supported before he falls off the bed, would be very good right now. "...Probably...Healer...?" he manages finally. The dizziness is receding but the headache isn't. 

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Sakshemar hugs him gently and then settles him carefully in the bed so he won't need Sakshemar's support.

"I get Healer," he promises, and he gives Lionstar's shoulder a reassuring squeeze and goes to find one.

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Lionstar lies still and focuses on his breathing, and within a few minutes he feels...not back to normal, his head still aches worse than it has in days and his vision keeps doubling, but he can at least sort of think again. 

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It's not long before he returns with a Healer.

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Lionstar tries to make his eyes focus enough to tell whether it's Amberdrake; if it's not, he doesn't want to say anything about his mage-gift, in which case he needs another explanation for what he's done to himself. 

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It is Amberdrake! He sweeps in, visibly worried, and makes a beeline for Lionstar's bedside, perching on the side of the bed and resting his fingers on Lionstar's forehead. 

"He is not in immediate danger," he says to Sakshemar in Haighlei. "Injury worse, perhaps. You think he overexerted himself?" 

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Lionstar tries to shoot Sakshemar a meaningful, pleading look. He...didn't actually think this part through. And he certainly can't now, thinking at all is an uphill struggle. 

He isn't sure whether to trust Amberdrake. But his mage-gift isn't working. It might never start working again on its own. And – and that would be fine, sort of, if he had only himself to think of. He could live out a lifetime here and start over, or, hells, he could kill himself in order to get back into a Gifted body sooner.

But he's not alone. There's Sakshemar. His friend. Who's going to die, not now, not soon, but someday, and when he does it'll be forever. Only he was maybe, in theory, interested in Lionstar setting him out with a workaround. Which he hasn't done yet. Which he can't do, if his stupid Gift never comes back. 

I trust you, he tries to say to Sakshemar, with eyebrows alone. Help me decide what to do. 

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...yeah, all right. That looks like it's being left up to Sakshemar, and Sakshemar knows what he thinks is the right call here.

"Yes, I think he do too much," he says, in Kaled'a'in for Lionstar's benefit since it seems unkind to use a language he's less familiar with when his head is troubling him. "I think he try use mage-gift."

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"I...see." Amberdrake goes very still. His expression shifts from surprise, to bemusement, to...the look of someone watching a number of confusing points suddenly fall into place. "Lionstar. Is this true?" 

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Lionstar starts to nod– nope, nodding involves moving his head. "Yes," he whispers. 

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Amberdrake turns back to Sakshemar. "Do you know how long he has been so Gifted?" 

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Shrug. "When I meet him in forest he do fire. Not know before that."

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"Not...long before that," Lionstar admits. He's not sure of that, but it's not like the former inhabitant of his body is around to contradict him. 

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"Is that why you ran away?" 

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"...One reason," he says, as neutrally as he can manage. "Amberdrake, will it – is it going to get better?" Despite himself, his voice cracks a little. 

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...Sakshemar hugs him. Very gently.

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It's a good hug. It helps. 

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"I...cannot be sure," Amberdrake admits. "I have known this kind of wound to cause lasting damage, at times. However, yours was less severe than some and you were cared for promptly. And now that we know of your Gift, we can perhaps focus our Healing more precisely." He smiles reassuringly. "It will take time, and patience, yet I think with hard work we might restore your power. Though it will be very important that you do not overextend yourself as you did just now." He glances at Sakshemar. "Perhaps your good friend can help you remember to go slowly." 

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He smiles, and nods. "I help."

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Amberdrake smiles and pats Sakshemar's shoulder, then turns back to Lionstar. "To start, you need sleep. I can do some further Healing now, and I see you again tomorrow?"

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Lionstar lays back and closes his eyes. It doesn't seem like any better path of action is available right now. Tomorrow will be better. Right? Maybe? 

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That's the hope, at least.

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Amberdrake leaves, and Lionstar closes his eyes and is asleep in seconds. 

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Sakshemar sits and worries for his friend.

But worrying isn't going to help, so after a minute he switches to practicing control of his feelings, trying to figure out a method less disruptive than getting up and pacing the room. There are kinds of fidgeting that help a noticeable amount, and just making the effort in the first place is distracting enough to make a difference.

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Lionstar wakes up a number of hours later, feeling physically much better, and more hopeful to go along with it. "Sakshemar?" 

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"Friend! Feel better?"

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"Much better." He sits up, swings his legs over the side of the bed. "Want to go for a walk?" 

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"Yes!" He bounces a little.

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Then they can walk! White Gryphon is a very beautiful city, when he's not worried that his mage-gift is never going to work again. 

"We ought make a plan at some point," Lionstar says to Sakshemar, in Haighlei. "I am not all the way better, but - better enough to think."