Murphy stretched his back, and pulled himself to his feet. He'd been spending the afternoon on his own reading an interesting book. He squinted at the orange light in the centre of the sky. It would be dark soon, and Oats tended to get worried when he was late back to camp. He adjusted the sling on his left arm, and winced at the pain.

It had easily been three months since his fight with the dragon. His right arm was still tender, and he still couldn't lift with it, but the healing aspect he knew was working to slowly mend his broken body. It was a gradual process, since the use of it tired him quickly, so they only did it once a day before bed. He was relieved Uundah remembered the aspect well enough, otherwise his injuries may have turned out fatal.

He hung his head and sighed. His power hadn't returned when the healing started. The world remained dull and joyless without the painting of magic's colours. His access to aspect was limited to what Uundah could remember, since he couldn't even manage to summon the unique colours to mind anymore. The O'jin insisted his power would return, but Murphy wasn't optimistic.

They'd made camp two days walk from the battlefield in a cove below a giant tree. Murphy was using the tops of the tall cliffs as a place to seclude himself from his friends squabbling. The walk down was made harder by the fact that he couldn't climb, so the trip took him half of an hour to make.

Sausage and Oats had found him a crumpled mess in the rain, and nursed him back to walking health over the passing month. A result of the care was that the strange man and his donkey had grown uncomfortably doting. They were waiting for him by a bubbling stew, looking all too disappointed.

"If you keep wandering around up there you're going to break your legs too," Oats reprimanded.

Sausage honked in agreement.

"If that happens, I have you to carry me back," Murphy said, sitting down in front of the fire.

"I ought to leave you to do it when you go saying things like that," the strange man said, shaking his head. "You’re lucky you made it back in time for supper."

"Where's Uundah then?" Murphy asked, prodding at the stew with a big spoon.

"Hells if I know," he responded, waving his hand dismissively. "That bugger is as secretive as the farmer's back shed. We had a disagreement about the instigator in the Bardmirian devastation of Stain, and the fuzzy bugger ran off to sulk somewhere."

Murphy chuckled.

The O'jin and the donkeys had grown closer than any party cared to admit, bonding over their mutual interest in history and eating food they didn't need.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"He'll be back when he feels I've got a full tummy," he assured. Their bond worked in strange ways over longer distances, but he knew without a doubt that the O'jin was hungry. He never understood why the creature needed food when he lived off of his magic, but made sure to cater to his friends' strange needs regardless.

Oats sat to join him, and his old stool creaked. It had been put back together several times over by now, and the cook was almost out of ways to express his desire to be back in a town.

"Any word from your cranky master," he asked Murphy with barely veiled desperation.

"Not since last week when he called me drunk to tell me about the time he got together an army of gnomes to burn down a lighthouse. So nothing helpful I'm afraid."

"Shame," Oats sighed.

With the return of Oats came the return of Murphy’s ledger box. The cook insisted he wanted no part in it, so Murphy got his things back with little guilt. He'd used the crystal ball to contact Callus, letting him know he'd failed in his tasks. To the old man's credit, he wasn't too harsh about the whole ordeal, stating that he'd expected as much anyway. The Merlin organised travel for them, telling them to stay put. Murphy supposed the old man had some way of tracking him, so he was confident they'd be found. The downside to waiting for a lift, was the waiting part, and the four of them were starting to feel impatient. There are only so many recipes to make or books to read when there's no way to get more after all.

He hadn't told the old man about his power. That was the only thing that kept the crazy old bastard interested, he thought, so it was probably best to tell him after he was safe. Maybe Malnir would take him back now, given that his temptations were gone. The world was boring without the colours of magic.

They served the stew and sat back to eat, preparing for another quiet and long night.

The crack of a branch snapped their attention towards the forest. It was distant, but close enough to raise concern. They listened for the signs of something more, when they heard a muffled call. It was too far to tell what he was saying, but they knew right away it was Uundah.

Murphy sprung to his feet. His heart pounded fiercely in his chest as he searched for the direction of the sound. They waited, then the voice called again, distant but approaching.

"Home!" The O'jin called with might.

Murphy felt his palms go sweaty, and he looked at Oats. The strange man stood slowly, and walked to Murphy to listen as well.

"Sweet mead. Sweet bed!" Uundah called again, closer still. The sound of skittering in the underbrush joined the atmosphere, growing louder quickly.

"Did he just…" Oats half questioned, looking with hope at the Warlock.

The bush in front of them burst into a confetti of leaves, revealing a panting dog sized rodent. He looked up at them with massive and excited eyes.

"We're going home!" He shouted, pointing at the sky.

Above them, they saw the outline of a descending ship, flying a familiar coloured flag. The wyvern and axe symbol of the Son-Gonkiruun fleet trailed proudly behind.

Oats pat Murphy on the shoulder, and embraced Sausage. Uundah scurried up Murphy’s dirty leather armour and sat on his other shoulder. Murphy stared at the ship above wordless. The celebration of his friends faded to a muffle as he watched the craft come down, completely void of any wonder. Forlorn he wondered, was his adventure as a wizard over, or was the next step he took going to be the start of something great. His gift was gone, but his understanding of magic was deeper than it had ever been. His future was unclear, and for once in his life, that didn't excite him at all.