While resting in his cot, Scorpion rolls to give his arms wiggle room. The crickets screech loudly at night, but trying to analyze his premonition keeps him awake. He can only see the shades of grain texture.

Harcus was not particularly powerful. He had a middle-management position, so an usurper motive is flimsy. Palia does not seem to be the bloodthirsty type, nor does she seem to take pleasure in her role. Symptoms of fatigue cannot be faked easily. However, people are unpredictable and it's a possibility she coveted the position.

Then there's the issue of poison. If Timo's alibi is unreliable, it's possible that Timo's role as a caretaker slave contains a kernel of truth. Although, it's likelier that Saela would care for her father.

At least he should confirm that the animal deaths are related to Timo by tracing the mana. If they are, what would the motive be? Would they be distractions to keep him from sniffing out the real crime?

Over the next couple of days, the witchhunter reiterates through Timo's roaming patterns, including desire paths and main roads. He settles at a particularly rocky junction, where Timo often passes by late afternoon or evening. On the first day, he does not see Timo, but his efforts pay off on the second day.

Lowering himself at a ditch, Scorpion takes off his sock and boot. He flips out a bottle of hazy oil and a small handkerchief. Pouring the poultice onto his bare ankle, he rubs it in with the cloth, then stashes everything into a coat pocket. The thudding of his fingers is hair-raising when the hearing spell is active. He waits as Timo's footsteps grow in volume.

Timo, delivering a parcel, emerges over the distant bump. Scorpion hunches, a woolen hem rolled up, tending to his ankle and wincing. Timo actually passes by without a second thought. Exasperated, Scorpion groans, "Hey, can you help me?"

The child turns around. "I'm busy; what of it?"

Scorpion grits his teeth. "I sprained my ankle." His foot has become red and pink, slowly turning purple, as an allergic reaction to poison indigo. It's not life threatening, but it'll be very itchy for a few days. "Can you call someone down for first aid?"

Timo crouches and examines the rash. "No need."

Scorpion stares at the boy incredulously. "Look, I've been stuck here for a while. Can you fetch--"

"Be quiet!" Timo flashes a growl before his face reverts to nothing. He presses the parcel onto the ankle.

Those words would hurt more than his ankle. Scorpion holds his breath from shock. The cool meat can be felt through the parchment.

"You are not to tell anyone what you see here. I trust you can keep a secret?" The last sentence sounds less a question and more a threat.

The Scorpion continues acting in pain. "Au! An Arcanist am I, an Arcanist I die."

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"Do you have any water?"

The man sheepishly takes out a flask. "Just this." He rummages through another pocket, retrieving a clean handkerchief. "Do you need this too?"

Timo uncaps the flask and douses the ankle before wiping it clean. He starts mumbling while passing his hands over the sprain site.

Scorpion comments, "You're a healer?"

"Yeah."

"You're so young. Can you do this?"

"Of course."

Scorpion relaxes. Closing his eyes, he extends his mana like a radar, letting the bobbles inform him. The healer is certainly using his own mana, but only in small, precise doses. It has an elegance to it, a sensation which only certain healers give off. Many of them unleash a waterfall, subjecting you to a deeply spiritual cleansing.

Whenever Timo lifts his hands off, Scorpion rubs his ankle with a pre-soaked cloth, stripping the dye off his skin, and hiding the stains on the fabric. "I can't believe it." He wiggles his toes and lifts his foot slowly.

"Does it hurt?"

Scorpion shakes his head, but to confirm, he musters up confidence and carefully props himself into crab position. Imagining his ankle is no longer pained but still swollen, he steadies himself onto his feet. "Thank you. This is better than I expected. I can make my way." He reaches down to put on his sock and boot. "You’d make a great healer. I heard there’s a clinic not far from here. Have you thought about visiting?"

Timo wipes his hands off his pants, then picks up his meat parcel. "Actually, I’m going to check it out in a couple of days." He looks around the scenery, breathing deeply. "I'll be off." Just as quickly as he had arrived, he leaves.

Scorpion hobbles along the rocky road in the opposite direction. He tunes the hearing spell farther. No words come from Timo's direction, although his gait has become haggard. He's not the type that talks to himself, huh?

When sufficiently out of range, Scorpion resumes a normal trot. I can't believe it. The mana signature is a match.

A crime like horse thievery is punished with death. If Timo gets caught and executed, nobody would miss him--if he was an adult. When it comes to children, public hearings are never smooth.

Scorpion must prove that Timo, who evaded detection thus far, has a screw loose. A demonstration of the mana signature with the salvaged horn will be most damning. Still, emotions tend to win over logic. The chances of winning a trial are bad for him, and depends on popular consensus. Timo does not show significant mental deficits, as he appears rather normal, and he might try to rally the farm against him.

However, he’s easily swayed to violence. Is Timo an accomplice? Because there was only one caster at Harcus's crime scene, did Timo murder by himself? He would be capable of the magic, but if there's another person behind the scenes, the possibility cannot be ignored. A confession must be extracted from Timo.

If Scorpion is unable to figure out who is the mastermind, then the boy will have to die for dipping his hand in evil. Still, it’s hard to convince people to help his case, if it potentially ends by slaying a child.

It gets easier, Master said.

Scorpion mutters, "Bullshit."

It never gets easier. You just get better at running away. When wielding a dagger is too close for comfort, you learn to handle a spear. When the tip renders flesh and you taste your enemy's blood as it sprays into your mouth, you learn to shoot a bow. When you have to salvage arrows from a leaking human cadaver, you learn to brew poisons. When people stop drinking and eating, you learn to delegate assassins.

If you choose to stick with the dagger, it never gets easier. The spider weaves an ever bigger web to catch and choke all the excuses, stretching more and more silk to keep afloat. One day, it’ll snap under its own weight.

But not today, nor tomorrow.

It would be a lie to say he doesn’t feel a wrench in his gut, but he will trust his clairvoyance and his logic. Reality wins--or rather, his vision of justice--over ideals.

If it comes to the worse case, then he will ensure a quiet assassination: humane, peaceful, poisonous. Timo's disappearance will be pinned ‘as coyote.’ Scorpion must accomplish this alone.