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The morakii Razilah gifted them fetched a good price. Despite its small size, they left the settlement of Shrye with rides, extra rations and some change.

Between Shrye and Dairos laid a sprawling saltmarsh. With its shallow waterways and soggy soil, horses gave way to the use of auna for transportation. The flightless birds were reliable carriers—though Petra's seemed to think her hair was a berry to be plucked—and their long legs and wide feet skitted the water-logged ground with ease.

A small outpost offered rest halfway to Dairos, and Syra urged them to stop as the sun was getting low.

"We can't afford a room," Aidan reminded her. "We can take a break to eat, but we can't be too long if we want to reach Dairos before it's too dark to ride. We'll camp if we have to." Aidan tied his auna to a railing and dug a ration out of his sack, "Stretch and stuff your face. Then we're gone."

"Yes, sir," Petra mocked through a full mouth of bread and meat.

Syra stretched and pumped her legs, hoping for better circulation in her hindquarters. It was the heavy, acidic stench that drifted on the wind that made her pause.

"What is that?" She glanced about the green-and-brown plain with nose in the air. "Smells like something's rotting."

There were no carcasses as far as she could see, and they were the only people around, save maybe the innkeeper. And as much as she enjoyed the constant breeze, the smell made her stomach turn.

"I take it this is your first time out this way?" The burly innkeeper leaned against the doorway with an amused grin on his face, his scraggly beard hiding a handsome face.

"Is it that obvious?"

He chuckled, "It's the smell—gets newcomers every time. But you get used to it, I promise."

"Did something die? Is it the trees or—"

"You're near the sea, miss. And it's low tide, so everything's going to smell like rotting muck. But, that's a good thing, too. You'll make better time without all the flooding."

"Have you been to Dairos before?" Aidan eyed the man from his bench.

"Been there? I lived there. Well, at least until a storm took my house. I'm not one to tempt the sea, so I sold everything and moved here." He gave the doorframe of the stilted A-frame a hard pat. "Three storms and still standing."

"In that case, would you happen to know a smith by the name of Weldon?"

"You mean the Halfling fella?"

"That's right."

"I've heard of him. Before I left, that is. Don't know if he's still around, but he's a damn good smith from what's been told. Why? You needing a smith?"

"I...managed to break my sword, and a customer of his recommended him."

"Oi, that's too bad about your sword. I do have a selection in the back if you'd like some other options, though."

A twinkle lit in the man's eye, but Aidan waved him off.

"Thank you, but I'd rather have this one. Sentimental value and all."

"Aye, I understand. Figured it was worth a shot."

"I am interested to know where this Weldon is located. Dairos is a big city, and I'd hate to get us lost."

"Well, first you have to get through the gates—they're a might picky. You all traders? Travelers? Probably soldiers from the look of you." He pointed to the scabbards at their waists.

"We're escorting her." Aidan nodded to Syra who looked over with raised brows and meat dangling from her mouth.

"What'd I do?"

"She's a mage," Aidan pointed to his ear and Syra flashed her earring, "and is traveling for her Magus exam."

"Well, would you look at that," The innkeeper beamed, wide-mouthed. "Pardon my staring. We don't see many of you around here."

"It's quite alright." Syra gave her cute, polite smile.

"Actually, I could use some of your help, if you don't mind."

"Oh? With what?"

Warning glares flashed from Aidan and the twins, and Syra caught her words behind her teeth.

Careful, now, Aidan's eyes said.

"It's alright, you don't have to." The innkeeper caught on to their hesitation and waved the idea away.

"I'd like to," her voice was honest and sad, "but we've had some rough dealings the last couple times we've stopped to help people."

"I see. I'm sorry for that. People...people shouldn't take advantage of kindness like that."

They stood in awkward silence as the lines on his face and the setting sun strung at Syra heartstrings.

"Could you spare a room for the night? In exchange for our help?" Syra met Aidan's gaze with a raised brow. You did say we couldn't afford one.

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A smile spread across the man's face and he cracked a laugh, "If you can help, I'll give you room, board, and send you to the gates with a sealed Letter of Travel."

"That's quite a fair deal," Cassius whispered to Aidan.

Aidan studied the man. He appeared honest and unassuming, but so did Radstrom and Tilly. But he wore no necklace and there was no sign of branding on his bare arms.

"What was it you needed help with?"

The man led them inside the small shanty of an inn and into an area that appeared to be his own quarters. Lying on layers of blankets by a window was a gray ball of fur with large ears that struggled to breathe shallow, raspy breaths.

"Aw, it's a kila!" Syra hurried to its side and knelt down to examine the poor thing, restraining herself from petting it. "What happened to it?"

"That's the thing, I don't know." The lines on the man's brow deepened at the sight of his pet's condition. "I was hoping you might."

"I've never treated a kila before," she bit down on her lip, "but I think I can at least see what's wrong."

She rested her hands atop the kila's fur and ran them down its body in slow, gentle strokes, feeling for anything that seemed abnormal.

"Find anything?"

Syra shook her head, "Everything feels fine, so far. Maybe if I check its throat...perhaps there's a blockage."

She slid a hand under the sleeping creature and ran her fingers along its small neck. But instead of her finding a lump, the kila's needle-like teeth found her hand.

"Ow!" Syra winced as the rudely awakened furball latched onto the meat of her thumb. She went to pull her hand away, but tiny claws were quick to seize her forearm.

It growled and spit and raked its hind claws against her arm in repeated bunny-kicks. Blood trickled from multiple lines by the time the innkeeper snatched his pet away.

"I am so sorry! Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I'll heal."

He plopped the kila onto his bed and grabbed a rag for her arm, "Come, you can rinse off over here."

Syra followed him to a small wash basin where she let him wipe the blood away.

The man paused abruptly, "Hold on."

He took a light hold of her wrist for a closer look at the scratch marks. His eyes widened as light seemed to shimmer around the edges of the bloody lines, "You're not just a mage, are you? You're...a Lightblood."

Syra retracted away, confused and startled by his grip.

"Will that be a problem?" Aidan stepped closer to the man and narrowed his eyes.

"What? Oh, no." He released Syra's wrist and handed her the cloth for her to clean herself. "I'm just...surprised, that's all. It's my first time ever meeting one." He gave a short laugh and returned to calming his pet who eyed Syra with a death glare.

"I didn't feel any lumps," Syra reported once she had scabbed over, "so I think she might just be sick. I can try to treat it, if you'd like."

"I'd be most grateful, thank you."

Syra approached the kila a second time, keeping ample distance. She knelt by the bed, hands in her lap. Her eyes closed and she forced her breaths to come long and deep. She focused on her heartbeat, on the thumping in her neck, on the sound of air leaving her nose. She cupped her hands together and warmth began to build inside her palms. Warm. Like her breath. Warm. Like the mana-rich air that tingled her arm hairs. Warm. Like the growing ball of energy that spread from her gut to her chest, then down her arms. Her body hummed and tingled.

The air became thick like water. Each breath of the room's occupants sent ripples that washed over her. Some were harsh and hot, like a large campfire.

There's Petra...

Others tepid and calming, like Spring's sunhigh.

And Cassius.

And others more that soothed like an evening breeze on a sweaty brow—her favorite.

And there's Aidan.

She blew a light breath out, as if to separate leaves atop a pond.

There you are.

She let the larger ripples fade into the background and focused on the fainter hum that came from the kila's strained breath and quick heartbeat.

She raised her hands inches above the kila, feeling the ebb and flow of the waves radiating from its body.

Let's see what ailing you.

Her eyelids slid open like one who was half-asleep. Light was what she saw: a shimmering wash of colors blending one into the other in waves. Yellows, oranges, even blues and white danced together in a halo around the animal. But it was the patch of navy that Syra's eyes locked onto.

At the risk of facial scarring, she lowered her nose to the dark spot at its throat and mouth. Its breath was rancid. She was right. Sickness had lodged itself in the creature's throat and was festering.

"What is it?" The innkeeper shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from wringing them. "Will she be okay?"

The sudden sound jarred Syra and she raised a hand for quiet, "I'll do what I can."

Sitting up straight, she took a deep breath and stretched out her hands over the creature with splayed fingers. Her fingertips buzzed. With her right thumb and index finger, she pinched at the cold, dark spot and pulled. The kila shivered as a navy line followed Syra's fingers like needle-and-thread.

"What is that?" The innkeeper stared wide-eyed at the thin string of light Syra had pulled from the kila's neck.

"A Thread." Her voice was distant from concentration, "Why do you think we're called Weavers?"

While her right hand kept the thread taught, her left pinched at the deep emerald at its chest, pulling a green thread to meet the blue. With sweeping movements, her hands wove them like a fingerpainter over a canvas, mixing colors as the threads hung in the air.

When the mosaic was finished, Syra pressed it down until it merged with the halo and disappeared.

"Will she get better, now?" The innkeeper petted the sleeping creature's head with a light hand.

"That's up to her." Syra leaned back with a heavy sigh. "Disease is more difficult than cuts and scrapes. I can't simply speed up recovery, I can only tell her body how to fight it and give her strength."

The man cuddled his pet in his lap and remained silent for a long while.

"Thank you." He coughed at the knot in his throat. "After the storm took my wife and boy, this little one is all I have left. Even if she's not strong enough to make it, thank you for trying."

***

Morning brought sore butts, hot breakfast, and an affectionate kila that hopped after Syra wherever she went.

"Looks like she knows who saved her." The innkeeper laughed as it tried to follow Syra out the front door.

"No, no. I'm sorry, little one. Your home is here." Syra picked up the squeaking furball and handed it back to its owner. "Make sure she gets plenty of rest and water. She might look chipper, but she's still recovering."

"Yes, ma'am."

He stashed the kila in the bedroom and returned with a letter and a map.

"Weldon's shop is here." He pointed to a building near the port that he had circled in ink. "Again, I'm not sure if it's still there, but I'm sure you can find it if you ask around."

"Thank you," Aidan folded the map and tucked it into his vest.

"Let's go!" Petra called from the road—she and Cassius had already mounted their auna and were pacing.

"Oh, be patient, we're coming!" Syra waved them away and brought Aidan his ride.

"Give this to the guards at the gate," the innkeeper handed the sealed letter up to Aidan, "it'll give you passage."

Aidan and Syra dipped their heads and trotted off after the twins.

"Oh!" The man called, making them stop and turn, "If anyone gives you trouble, just look for someone wearing a bronze coin. Tell them Fin sent you and everything will be taken care of."

They froze.

This is Fin? Tilly's Fin? The Black Thorn member?

Syra's stomach lurched.

Not again. Damnit! I thought I was being smart by finding us shelter, but I just walked us into the dragon's lair. At least it's four against one. But what's he going to do after we're gone? When we're alone on an open trail?

A forced breath calmed the retch inside her.

He saw me weave—saw my blood. He knows there's a Lightblood on the way to Dairos, and one raven could...

Syra gulped and prayed he couldn't see the shock on their faces. Even more, she hoped Petra hadn't heard him. But Aidan raised a casual hand and waved, then continued on like nothing was amiss.

Syra's hands were trembling, "That's...I can't believe—"

"I know." He kept his voice down as they neared the twins.

"What do we do?"

"We find Weldon, and leave. Soon."

She bit hard on her lip, "We can't tell Petra."

"Wasn't planning on it."