They ran, darting past the customs officers who had reached out arms to stop them. One of them grabbed Zahra by the shoulder, but her dagger went out and slashed at the grip, and he released her in surprise, swearing. Darting through the town, they skirted stone buildings and dove around alleyways, searching for somewhere to lay low before even more guards were out looking for them. They passed thatched cottages, crammed together at the edge of winding streets. As Omir burst through one of the flimsy wooden doors, Zahra followed, her ears punished by a woman's screams. She saw a sack of potatoes upending on the floor. Omir grabbed the woman in the house and covered her mouth with his hand, pressing his dagger to her neck. “Be quiet, wench.” he hissed into her ear. “Zahra! Find us some disguises.” She searched through drawers to find peasant clothing, farm worker's clothes. Omir had the right idea—they wouldn't be questioned if they looked like usef labourers out to work the land... or so she hoped.

Zahra's mentor shoved the woman into her own scullery, where they both nearly tripped over a diminutive figure. The woman gathered the bundle protectively in her arms. "Don't hurt my boy," she pleaded.

Omir put a finger to his lips conspiratorially, urging them to be silent. Then he backed out of the room, closing the door and sealing it with the metal latch.

"What did you find?" asked Omir.

Zahra offered him the pile of clothing she had found. "Did you hurt them?" She asked.

"Do you care, little Zahra?"

The girl looked unsure of how to answer, and Omir sorted through the clothes, pulling a large shirt over his head. "It's them or us. Are you going to choose some common farmer over your own life? Over mine?"

"No, but-" Zahra bit her lip.

"They're fine," he grunted. "Now get a move on. Every moment is precious in this game."

They emerged from the house disguised, into one of the cobbled streets behind the stretch of huddled cottages. The houses here were made of stone and sun-bleached timber, the air fresh and smelling of salt. For such a big place, it didn’t seem like many people were around. The streets were quiet, though the bells of a tall building rang in the distance. When Zahra paused to look at the inner palisades that protected the coastal fortress, Omir pulled her away with a vice-like grip, telling her to hurry. In the distance she saw a town guard in the garb of House Austyn—burnished ringmail under a tabard of pure white, and holding a wide shield, its face enamelled with a black and white saltire. He was directing two other men, and the nobleman who had uncovered her theft was with him, gesturing wildly and shouting, though Zahra could not hear the words. Then he pointed straight towards them. Zahra felt their eyes pass over her, and she forced herself to move as slowly as possible, though her heart threatened to burst from her chest. The stolen dagger and ring burned hot in her pockets, and she was afraid that they would know.

They walked quickly to the end of the road, and Zahra kept pace with Omir who was walking with infuriating slowness. His expression was unreadable. They passed a merchant couple, and Omir began talking, she realised, to her.

“Now, Emira. When we get to the holding you are to be on your best behaviour, is that clear? Our laird Aurus Austyn would be certainly displeased if you showed any lack of manners in his presence.”

Zahra bit her lip and played along. “Yes, father. I’ll do my best.”

“Now, we’ll be leaving as soon as possible.”

The attention of the merchant couple beside them had piqued. The woman turned to them and spoke. “Beg pardon, sir, but did I hear correctly? The blaine horn has been heard across town, so you won’t get out of the Kove tonight... Unless your carriage has already been approved, that is.”

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Omir was unperturbed. “Oh, has it? A blaine horn, you say? I'm afraid that I'm unfamiliar with the custom. If we are to be delayed, it will surely cost me in business.”

The woman’s eyes gleamed. “The horn sounds when the guards are searching for scum to hang by the dock-posts. Thieves, or worse, witches. Her voice quietened to a whisper as she made a sign across her chest, to ward away evil. "Me and Thoralf here are leaving this evening, and as it happens, our wagon might just have enough room for you two. Though if we take you both, there’ll be less room in the cart for grain.” She stroked her chin rather theatrically, as if considering carefully, weighing her options.

Omir smiled gently at the woman, and produced a cloth pouch from his coat with a flourish. The woman caught it, grinning with only one side of her face. “I suppose it is no trouble to take you after all. Will you join us for a drink? It will be another hour before we leave.”

“You are too kind.” Omir said.

Later, a girl and her father left through the town’s front gate heading North, which lead gently downwards into a valley where they passed a wooden sign advertising potatoes and turnips for sale at 'Weriwig Farm'. After that, the landscape changed sharply as the road led up into the mountains. The farmer’s husband was a keen dice player, and challenged Omir to pass the time. When Zahra asked to join in, Omir just looked at her sternly. Playing the strict parent, she supposed. They left the wagon at the first market village they came upon, with more gold in their pockets than they had spent on the journey.

They had walked for at least an hour past the village before Omir relaxed slightly, sure that they hadn't been followed, that a mounted squadron wouldn’t be heading up the path soon, baying for their blood. Omir then whirled on Zahra, who jumped back, surprised. His face was a mask of rage. “Show me it.” he snarled.

“What?”

“No more games, girl. I don't have time for them and you've just made business a lot harder for me. The loot. Hand it over.”

Zahra took the dagger and ring from her pocket and handed them over to Omir. He appraised them, turning them over with his hand. After a while, he spoke. “Do you know whose these belonged to? Look.” on the inside of the ring, there was an inscribed 'W', composed of arrows, surrounded by an ivy wreathe. “House Wulfric. You remember them, don't you? Remember bowing to them as they passed you in the streets of Vesper?" Omir sighed. "You know, if we'd been caught back there, both of us would've been whipped raw then beheaded. What's the point of me teaching you anything when you obviously don't want to survive?!” His face was red and she tensed, sure he was going to strike her.

No blow came. She peeked open one eye to find that Omir had turned away. “You've got to understand that it's alright to cut off a little here and there, but there are much bigger fish than us and we've got to give them respect, if only for the power that they have. Stealing that ring and dagger was very foolish. What if we'd been found out while we were still at sea? We would've been marched right off the side and then ripped apart by sea serpents, and not even a chance of escape. What were you thinking?”

“I...”

“Right. You weren't thinking at all.”

Zahra was almost in tears. Omir had never scolded her this way before. Since they had met, her mentor had never hit her nor even raised a strong word against her, despite her fondness for mischief. She had crossed the line of his tolerance this time. She hadn't thought about the consequences. She had just acted, using the skills that had been taught to her. Testing herself.

The realisation that she had disappointed Omir burned in her throat like acid. He was still mid-diatribe, but Zahra didn't hear the words. Why did it hurt so much to disappoint him? The realisation came, obvious as soon as she deigned to consider it. Omir was her mentor, teacher, but more than that. He was the only father figure she had ever had.

Suddenly his demeanour changed. He let out a long, whistling breath, and it seemed his anger went out with it. “Well,” he said, “we're still alive.” He handed back the dagger to her but pocketed the ring.

“I hope that some of what I just said will get through to you. Use that damn brain of yours before you act. I'll need to go back to the port town for that business, but there's a hamlet a few miles North, if you just follow the road. Get a room at that inn the sailors talked about, and I'll be back in a few days. Alright?”

Zahra nodded and turned away. Omir grabbed her by the hand so hard that he almost ripped her arm off. “Remember what I said, lass. You won't get so many second chances.” He let her go and was walking away. She rubbed at her wrist that still stung, watching him until he was a dot on the horizon, then turned around and went on her way. Her neck burned hot where it met the scratchy farmer's shirt, and her eyes stung in the wind. The road was uphill all the way.