Clouds drew in asudden and hid the suns, bearing down on the world. The ninth long ring came to a close like it was seeking us out in the cliffs, faintly.

Out here little skinks slithered along the cliff faces, hunting the last glider-scorpions and tentacle-snails before the gray season in full fell. The calls of the ax-crested pterosaurs filled the air, sounding reedy and warbly. I saw one swoop down all asudden and fly off with a dust turtle I hadn’t even seen, hiding behind a low fern.

“Poor little turt.”

“Pterosaus have to eat too.”

I looked around. Past the Berwem gate, all the guards had pulled ashcloaks over themselves, though they maneuvered the red sash onto the outside. We walked up that same ravine that wound us back into town last night, limned almost adventurous in the sky light.

The pink guard was slinking back beside the dark-green wiver, more subdued, but not so much as when talking under Rhyfel or Adwyn. “Hey, uh, Hinte, was it? Everyone called you Gronte-wyre, but I don’t think that was your name.”

The dark-green wiver glared at the guard. “Call me Hinte.” Then she said, “Why do you need my name?”

“To talk. My name’s Ceian, the youngest in the guard. But I’m going to be the best some day.”

“Okay.”

“And you’re my age, and already doing cool stuff, so I thought you might make a good friend.”

“Me? The creepy alchemist’s daughter?”

“Oh. I forget about that.” The pink guard frowned, brilles clouding. “Well, you didn’t do any weird alchemy stuff back there. So long as you don’t do any of that, you’re fine.”

Hinte turned away from the guard and high-walked on. The guard kept up, until Hinte scowled and said, “And just what is weird alchemy stuff?”

“I don’t know. Whatever it is alchemists do. Turn sneks into snails, make dragons blind, raise the dead, unnatural stuff like that.” His eyes flashed clear. “I heard alchemists have a potion that makes you shit out your soul. Is that true?”

“First, souls don’t exists, they are absurd. Second, half of that is magical or impossible. If you could turn animals into each other, it would be magic, not alchemy. You can make dragons blind, but I have only read of one mixture that wasn’t temporary. And it is costly.”

The fledgling alchemist looked around. She continued, “And⁠ ⁠—⁠ you cannot raise the dead. It’s not even worth trying.”

Ceian rolled his eye. “Magic, alchemy, what’s the difference?”

“Alchemy makes sense. The harder you try to understand magic, the madder you become. Alchemy is reliable. Magic is mercurial.”

“It’s all the same to me. They’re both unnatural.”

“Alchemy is perfectly natural. It’s magic that isn’t. An alchemical agent doesn’t do anything that wouldn’t happen on its own. Alchemy follows laws, the same laws as anything else. Every piece of magic is different.”

“Um,”⁠ ⁠—⁠ I brushed my wings along my cloak⁠ ⁠—⁠ “Specter cloaks are all the same.”

“And what are they made of?

“Medusa fibers. Hairs from these vicious jellyfish things.”

Hinte snapped her tongue. “And what do those creatures do? To hunt, that is?”

“They make these really blinding flashes of light.”

She padded on a few breaths. Then, she at last said, “Compare your cloak to my knife. They’re both magical, yet could they be farther removed from each other?”

“You have a⁠ ⁠—⁠ magic knife?” Ceian stepped to the side.

Hinte looked at me. “Had,” she said.

“Alright.” Ceian tended a slight closer. “So, what sorts of things do you like?”

Licked her brilles, Hinte said, “Alchemy. Seafood. Birds.” She paused. “Drakes who know when to spit off.”

“Cool. I’ve never had seafood. Birds are kinda–-cute, I reason.” Times passed in footsteps. “So, what are you doing after this mission?”

“Reading.”

“What for?

“My studies.”

From ahead, someone called, “Ay Ceian, let me get your take on this, c’mere.” Rhyfel was glancing back.

The pink-scaled drake dash toward him.

“Good riddance,” Hinte said. I grinned at her. She only peered, and said, “What?”

“He likes you.”

She rolled her head, and only said, “You are hardly one to talk,” with a pointed glance at a warm-gray drake.

“Still,” I said. “He’s cute. Especially when he isn’t being a vent. You could do worse.”

“With whom? There is no crowd of tongueless drakes pining for the creepy alchemist’s daughter.”

“Do you even talk to any drakes, though? Besides Digrif.”

“I sit in Dadafodd sometimes,” she said. “It’s more than you’ve done.”

I stopped walking.

“Hinte…"

She stopped with me, watched for a bit. “Should I apologize?”

I licked my fangs. “I⁠ ⁠—⁠ you’re right. I don’t really go out much.”

Hinte started low-walking again, and I did too, while she overtook me, I sidled up beside the warm-gray drake.

“Digrif?”

“Huh?”

I forced my tail to hang still between my hindlegs. “I was just wondering. If tomorrow or some other day, you wanted to, um, fly down to the cliffs southern. They’re kinda pretty and there are cute pterodons and the clouds fly right overhead and uh...”

“Sure. Maybe overmorrow or so. I have job to handle tomorrow, don’t know how long.”

“Yay.” I look around. Hinte still low-walked ahead, clicking softly and several strides beside her Ceian had some smirk on his face. “Gah! I forgot you two were so close.”

“Don’t mind us, plan your date,” said the pink guard.

“It’s not⁠ ⁠—”

“Focus on the mission.”

I jumped again. Behind us padded the hooded wiver, who stared blank at me.

I high-walked till I was up beside Hinte, and had three dragons between the secretary and me.

We walked on like that, another wind coming down from further through the ravine. It was dirty with dust and vog, and, with that stench of sulfur and metal, it was clear, in my heart, where we were headed. I coiled my tail up.

We advanced toward the Berwem.

* * *