Even if I ‘should’ be helping at the depot, Vance doesn't need me. I may be the physically stronger between us, but he's still perfectly capable of loading the month’s supplies without me.

Tracking this thief is the sort of job that I am uniquely suited for. Vance would have no interest in pursuing such a faint trail, nor would he consider it worth his time. I run across the roof lightly, maximizing the energy flow to my weight-reduction runes so I don't disturb the homeowners. I'm no child, despite my slender and youthful affect. My body may be streamlined and less obviously combat-trained than someone like Vance, but without the runes I'm still significantly heavier than the average person.

Following the trace ripples of a foreign presence, I hop from the roof across a much wider gap onto a slightly higher roof. From there, to a tree, along the branch and into a ten-foot leap up and onto the town wall.

Any doubt that I’m dealing with an extraordinary individual is immediately quelled by this. Even from a running start, it’d be difficult for any child to make that jump unassisted.

I don't count, for obvious reasons.

I land atop the wall with poise, startling the guard on his rounds.

"Madame Runemaker! Is something amiss?"

"Nothing at all. Just out for an afternoon run." I give him a cheery wave and jump off the wall into the outside beyond the perimeter, searching for where the ripple continues.

It doesn't take long, I'm very tuned to it now. I sense it even before I reach it, a faint tug to the right. I follow it in a straight line away from the town and toward the wilderness that separates human from beastkin territory.

A ch'kier? As far as I know, they’re the only clan in the area at the moment.

That would definitely explain how the thief managed to climb the entire wall without being noticed. The catkin are among the more nimble beastkin and would probably consider it more a game than a crime.

Still, desperation? I've as many friends among the ch'kier as I do among humans. If there were some great disaster threatening them or some desperate need, I would be aware of it.

This still isn't adding up.

It takes another half-hour for me to finally come within range of the culprit. Unfortunately, it seems I'm not the only one to have found him. Another presence hovers at the edge of my awareness, one decidedly hostile. One of the hunters, if I had to guess.

While technically the wilderness is supposed to be a safe zone, especially one this close to the Lenartzin battleground, I'm well aware of the fact that some humans tend to view beastkin more as beasts and less as kin. They wouldn’t instigate blatant conflict in defiance of the accords, but if one of the hunters found a ch’kier scout in human territory skulking about suspiciously…

I wouldn’t go so far as to say that ch’kier are considered fair game, but in such an encounter the human hunter often enough ends up one ch'kier pelt heavier.

I'm not going to stand by for any such thing. Interspecies conflict may be officially outside of my purview as Runemaker—not even Runemaker but merely Servant—but some responsibilities are ones that we choose, not ones that are given to us.

Unfortunately, I'm too far away to reach the hunter. He’s closing in on the unaware beastkin, and if the eager anticipation in his step is any indication, he's readying for the kill.

This is going to be tricky. My window of time for intervention is very narrow, and none of my standard spells is appropriate to the situation.

Unformed runes require incredible focus. Not the sort of thing you can just whip together on the go.

Unless you're me.

I raise my hand, visualizing the effect I want and allowing the magic of my soul to guide my fingers. I keep my attention on the duo ahead and hold my intention without looking at the rune as I draw. If I try to observe what I’m doing, my conscious expectations could warp the outcome. I don't want that.

Sometimes the best way to do something is to stop thinking about it and allow it to manifest through me.

Concealment and alertness.

The hunter is using a monster-dowsing staff to track his prey, and the ch’kier he hunts is the most magical thing around. Apart from me, but I don't show up on any measurement scales. I'm not sure of the reason, perhaps the balance of neutrality in my energy allows me to flawlessly blend into the ambient magic of the world, or perhaps I truly am as weak as Master Emett seems to think.

Regardless, the rune is drawn into the air, my finger moving smoothly and without effort. The finished product hangs in the air, blue fire painted into reality. I feed the rune a thread of energy, allowing it to draw what it needs to function from my inner reservoir, and throw the finished spell in the direction of the ch'kier thief meandering his slow way across the plain.

The catkin disappears from my senses, though I can still see his ears perk up as he looks around, warned by the awareness portion of my spell. Then he drops below the level of the tall grasses, disappearing from sight as well.

The hunter stops moving and looks around, bewildered. He shakes his dowsing staff in the air, turning it this way and that, but the rune I cast is strong enough to block his crude tool. I leave the man to his futile hunt, hoping he finds something less sentient to track.

It takes me a moment to re-discover the ripple of the thief’s passage, for my spell has shifted the nature of his presence to one on a different spectrum. But even I can't fully conceal something from my own senses.

The thief bounds away at an angle. I race after him, cutting across the field so we’ll meet up at a safe distance from the bewildered hunter.

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I only reach him several minutes later when his flight begins to slow. As I thought, it's a ch'kier child. Twelve, perhaps eleven.

He carries a mismatched pair of curved bone knives and three small bags strapped to his back as he bounds through the tall grasses on all fours, leaving barely a ripple in his wake. If not for his abnormally high magical impact, he would be all but undetectable.

"Excuse me," I say, waving.

Startled, the ch’kier turns and looks up, orange and black tail poofing, slitted green eyes widening at my sudden appearance. His chest is bare, muscular and furred, only donning the least required cloth to remain modest and a belt to keep it so, a sack tied to each side of his waist.

He turns as though to run, then stops and looks back.

I spread my arms, showing off the gray full body sleeve that I wear. It's not an official uniform or anything like that. Normal Runemakers wear less concealing clothing, showing off their abilities openly.

My runes would be… well, it's probably for the best that I keep them hidden. Enough said.

But, as I mentioned, I have many friends among the ch’kier. Even if I don’t know this one personally, there’s a good chance he’s heard of me.

Slowly, he straightens from his wary crouch, raising a hand to point at me, eyes still wide but now with awe instead of fear.

"You're the Runesouled Shadow! My mother won't stop talking about the time you created water out of thin air during the summer drought."

I smile sheepishly. "Oh, yeah… people still talk about that?”

“Of course! Half of us wouldn’t have survived without your help.”

“It was nothing, I’m sure you would have been just fine.”

The ch'kier shakes his head in denial. "They have built a sunfountain in the drowned encampment as a memorial. Every time we sojourn past the new swamp we will see it and remember what you’ve done for us. Of course you're not going to be forgotten."

I wince. Not the thing I’d prefer to be remembered for, if I’m being honest. “It hasn’t dried out yet?”

“I don’t believe it ever will.”

My eye is drawn to the white rune imprinted above his heart, the pale fur notably shorter than the black and orange stripes covering the rest of his body. "That pattern, I've seen it somewhere else today…"

The ch'kier tenses, arms drawing in, body hunching in shame, though he does not lower his gaze. "Ah," is all he says.

"No excuses?"

His jaw tenses, affronted. "I acted in ignorance and caused grievous harm, thereby, I have no right to pretend otherwise."

I like him already. “What’s your name?”

“Given or Chosen?”

“You already know.” I scowl, shaking my head. “Why even try fooling me at this point?”

“My apologies,” he says, looking as if he wants to run away in shame. “Blessed by Niatrayu, I am Sentra Sikar.”

“Well met, Sikar,” I greet, gesturing towards the sky and bowing my head towards the earth. “And blessed be in the presence of Naitrayu’s named one.” Once the formal greets of a Blessed are complete, I nod his way. “A powerful name you have. Your skills back it.”

Most ch'kier are sticklers for honor, they just have slightly different definitions than others. Sometimes even between tribes.

Now that formalities are out of the way and I wouldn’t unintentionally cast myself as a blooded enemy of the beastkin race, I squint at the young ch’kier with my hands on my hips. "Why did you do it?"

His fur ripples slightly, puffing up in instinctive reaction quickly stifled. "He is my friend."

It doesn't fit at first, the motive inconsistent with my observations, but then the pieces start to coalesce. "It's not desperation to obtain anything. You're desperate to save him. Right the wrong you unknowingly caused." Which still left the question of the stolen items, but that’s insignificant compared to what would have happened if I hadn’t been here to avert disaster.

Sikar nods.

“Do you understand what you've done?"

"I do not. I understand only that it has gone terribly wrong." Though he tries very hard to keep a strong façade, his voice trembles. His eyes dart about, as though searching for a way of escape. He knows he's acted wrongly. “I almost robbed his family of their star.”

“More than that. His entire town relies on his power to protect them during every rush. Without him, the gators would’ve wreaked havoc.” I sigh, stopping myself from going off on a rant. “Humans and ch’kier are not the same," I tell him gently. "I understand your enthusiasm to share your discovery, understand your desire to show everyone that we’re not so different."

Sikar focuses in on me sharply, as though startled that I would have picked up on his motivation so clearly. But runemaking, even common sigildry, is not something one undertakes without strong and focused motive.

"But you need to remember that we are different. Not just ch’kier and human, but individuals too. What works for you might kill your brother, and what works for him might only harm you. You cannot rush into things.” I point to his enhancement rune. "This? It works for you because of your heritage and environment. It would not work for me."

That said, the positioning is remarkable. Intuiting that the shift from ch’kier anatomy to human would require a change from chest to arm is the kind of thing I’ve rarely witnessed. Far beyond anything I’d see from Vance or even Master Emmet.

"Have you ever considered pursuing Runemaker candidacy?"

Sikar’s eyes, which had begun to return to their normal state, snap wide open again. "Me? A Runemaker?"

"Yes, you. I am lacking the seniority to induct you on the spot, but your potential is incredibly high. I've rarely met someone who could've done what you've done. Even if it turned out to be harmful in this case, your spirit of brotherhood and the raw talent… You probably don't realize just how rare you are."

I so wish I could bring him back to the tower with me for a hearing now. That's the ideal, but I'm not going to force him on Master.

And I’m not sure I want to force Master Emmet on him.

I know from personal experience that Master Emmet’s teaching methods are, shall we say, inflexible. He's not the sort of man who would be a good teacher to this young ch’kier.

If I had the time and authority, I would train him myself in a heartbeat, but his echoes are small and my other tasks great. I don't have the time to spare, however much I may wish.

Speaking of time… Vance is probably nearly finished loading by now. If I don't show up soon, he may well leave without me.

“You’ve learned from this, correct?” I ask, eyeing Sikar sharply.

Vigorously, he nods agreement. "I have and will remember it for the rest of my days. Thank you.”

“And you’ll stop taking things from the town without paying for them?”

“I will take what is given and none beyond it,” he concedes, though his left ear twitches irritably. “Regardless of what is deserved or needed.”

I nod. Good enough for me. I can figure out what he means about deserving and needing some other time. For now…

“My duty calls me. Do consider what I said about Runemaker candidacy." I bow towards the earth and sky, “Well met, Blessed of Niatrayu, Sentra Sikar. May the dance of the suns find us in fellowship again.”

He bows in return, and I make my leave.

Sikar stares after me, head tilted to one side, tail twitching in quick unconscious flicks. Then he bounds away, disappearing into the tall grasses with barely a rustle.