It has been so long since I've put pen to parchment, so long that the sunsets and sunrises seem to blur, the cascade of time becoming the break upon which my own waters may still. The generations have since bred in upon themselves so many times that I honestly wonder how we have survived. I've waited for the deformation to begin, so long have I waited. From those memories I had taken from my own master I remember stories of ancient peoples, and how they dealt with such... grotesque anomalies. Whether it be the pure pleasure of release or the raw amount of Gia it would provide to the reservoir, I dare say I'm giddy with excitement and anticipation.

Despite his mother's boasts, and his father's insistence, breaking trade rules was a big deal. Dorian wondered whether it was okay that they would be making an exception to the regular trade rules for him but disregarded it as no big deal. He could sit about pondering over the moral impositions of having the privileges he had, how many others would never be afforded the opportunity to pick up skills from other craft houses but decided that the reality was what it was. Pondering over the what if wouldn't change the fact that he was being shown special treatment, and moral or not, Dorian intended on taking advantage of everything he could in life.

So, after a week of arguments between the village head, his mother and father, and other craft houses, he was allowed to attend the stave training with the trappers. Apparently, it wasn't entirely uncommon for some tradesman to pick of the stave, as people like the cutters and caretakers would be close enough to the Wilds to warrant some training, but there was no honest correlation between cooking and being in the Wilds. Regardless, Dorian was excited for the opportunity.

He was so excited in fact, that he took every chance given by his father, brother, and once even his mother, to improve his skills. He accidentally overheard a conversation about his ongoing horizontal growth between his parents, which brought him nothing but shame and embarrassment. So, as to put his best foot forward, he cut back on the breads and worked himself to a sweat whenever possible. He took to speed running the log stacking and kept a weighted staff he could work with while he was waiting for his father to instruct him on his next set of chores. If he wasn't cooking anything new, he wouldn’t take taste tests so often, for fear that he may continue to gain weight.

To his chagrin, and despite feeling more energetic and optimistic, in two weeks’ time he hadn't lost any fat. He was worried he had gained weight, which made absolutely no sense. Worse yet, despite his good intentions, he was most afraid of embarrassing his parents and brother, which seemed to make the threat of shame dance around in the back of his mind.

Finally, the first day he could attend staff training with the trappers was on him. In his excitement, he lost some sleep the night before but still managed to rush through his morning duties at the cookery. The batches of dough he made up in the morning, making three batches in total. One that was made for hard bread, another for pitas, and finally a third for breads. The pita bread dough was a rarity, meant to take on the road, it was traditional to the equinox festivals. He was honestly a little surprised he remembered how to make it.

His father, once again not recalling having taught his son how to make the dough, inspected the process as Dorian went, claiming that Dorian must have a photographic memory if he could so easily recall semi-annual recipe. His father, and two other master cooks, would make a large batch of pitas on the next day, saving Dorian from having to do additional work. Still, the day's meals would be served regardless of what was going on, and Dorian was still responsible for loading the ovens and the baking trays.

Finishing nearly a half hour early, Rand told his son to scurry along to his first stave practice. Fearing his son wouldn't have good attire to wear to practice, he offered Dorian a ragged set of clothes that the cooks were nearly done with. They were shabby, made of wool, and if it didn't have an oil stain covering some area of the tunic, instead there was a burn mark. After Dorian had inspected them, he asked if it was proper to wear something like that to practice, but Rand insisted, stating “Oh, aye, if you think they're ragged now, just you wait until a few weeks go by. You'll want to wear something you can ruin.”

Dorian agreed, changed his tunic, and made his way out the door. On the way to the trappers’ trade house, he mused whether he should take a venture out to weaver’s trade house, just for mischief's sake. Shooting the idea down, as he would rather have been early than late, he made his way to his first practice.

It was described to Dorian, by Kurt and their mother, how the practices typically ran. First, stretching, Kurt having shown him the process a few years prior when he had first started. Then, the forms, various stances and how to strike from each. Then it grew more complicated, how to move from one stance to another, how to strike twice in an aggressive stance, opening to move smoothly into a balanced stance. On most days, this would be guided by descriptions in which each point or maneuver was applicable, or as his father put it, “understanding the why.”

Next would-be guided sparring, practicing the moves in slower motions to better understand the mechanics. Each person would be paired up with somebody close to their skills, they would take turns on defense and offense, switching back and forth so they could each gain experience with whatever move they were practicing that day. Then, there would be open sparring. Dorian questioned both Kurt and his mother as to why they would practice sparring against each other despite the training being primarily geared toward wildlife, both of which replied with a simple, “to build reflexes.” That, Dorian supposed, wasn't the answer he wanted, but would have to suffice.

Approaching the “courtyard,” just the meadow comprising the back yard of the trapper’s house, he could see there were quite a few people there. Cutters, trappers, foragers, caretakers, and now even a cook. He smiled to himself, taking in the seventy-five by fifty-yard area of packed dirt and grass. Some of the older people were there, honing their skills before the upcoming trek, others there for the sake of self-defense while they were alone in the Wilds.

Catching the outline of Kurt, he made his way over. “Hey there, little bro, glad you could finally make it.” Kurt said as Dorian approached. “Have you gotten your practice stave yet?” Dorian just shook his head, realizing Kurt wasn't alone. He was chatting with a girl roughly his age, that looked oddly familiar. She was covering her mouth and giggling at something Kurt had said prior to Dorian's approach.

Dorian shook his head, “No I haven't. First time and all.”

Kurt replied, “Well, there's a first time for everything.” Kurt looked over to the girl, and the bastard, smiling broadly, winked. The girl’s cheeks went bright red, faster than Dorian thought possible. Kurt gestured to the girl, “Dorian, I believe you've met Dianna.”

“Not formally, though I think you saved my life once.” Dorian put one arm behind his back, nodding his head in a respectful bow, “A pleasure, despite your poor taste in company.”

She brightened, “I see that the wit must run in the family.” She smirked at Dorian, giving a slight nod in return, then smiled broadly at Kurt, who was glaring daggers at his little brother. “I'll leave you to your duties, Hunter.” She curtsied, and Kurt waved wearing a goofy looking grin all the while.

As soon as she was out of sight, Kurt socked his little brother in the shoulder. Seeing it coming, Dorian braced himself, a kind of technique he picked up from using his unearthly strength whenever he could practice at it. In a way, it felt like one half of the whole, but instead of making him strong enough to pick up a Gwam stick, it made him more resilient. Kurt cursed softly, and shook his hand, remembering that it wasn't the first time that had happened since Dorian figured it out. The vertigo now came and went so fast that most people wouldn't even notice, Dorian barely did.

Ushering Dorian along, they came to the back of the trade house, a small shed was attached to it. Inside were an assortment of various staves, of which varied in size, thickness and weight. Apparently, most of them were line staves, but before they were permanently burned, they were imbued with Gwam in the center. It was meant to increase resistance and to better understand the balance of the staff. Kurt grabbed one, tossed it to Dorian then grabbed his own. They left for the training ground, Kurt heading to the front, Dorian following like lost cattle.

Before the stretching started, one of the master trappers came around, inspecting the individuals and pairing them off. Dorian, realizing that he wouldn't be paired with his brother, became incredibly self-conscious.

Not realizing it, most of the other people had paired off, in rough positions relative to where they would be practicing at. There were lines painted on the field making a grid, each box of the grid giving enough space between the trainees to ensure their safety. Dorian stood with Kurt and waited for the master to come around. As he approached, Kurt spoke up before the master had a chance.

“Master Kel, this is my little brother Dorian.” Kurt gestured to him. Standing tall, Dorian said, “Thank you for having me, sir.”

Master Kel was a tall enough man, shorter than his father, but built like an anvil. Broad shouldered, a small paunch, shaggy blonde hair mottled with gray covered a parallel set of scars down the left side of his face. The intimidating man eyed Dorian, “Ah, the exception. To the back with ya, the front row is reserved for the best.”“What about a partner, sir?” asked Kurt.

Eyeing Dorian more intently now, he made a thinking noise while running his thumb up and down his scar. Dorian looked away, assuming it would be rude to gawk.

“Look at me, boy.” Dorian turned, feeling a little irritated at being called “boy.” It wasn't that being younger felt like a slur, more that he had been born different. Most childish behaviors weren't natural for him, which left him feeling exposed unless he followed along with the act. Which, oddly, came naturally to him, like these were things he'd already done but had forgotten. Any act that he did engage in, he did so by choice, not by default. To be called “boy” implied that he never had the choice of the matter, when in all actuality he did. That wasn't to say that he could keep up in the yard with one of the adults, just that he didn't want to be treated like an ignorant child. Then again, Dorian thought, I suppose I can’t blame him for seeing what should be obvious.

Master Kel tilted his head, seeing something there. “Q.” He nodded, “You have leave to show him his place, center back row. When you get back, Kurtis, you'll be taking center front.” He bobbed his chin to Kurt, Kurt bowed saying, “Yes, sir.” Grabbing Dorian by the shoulder, Kurt dragged him to the back, consolidating advice as he went.

“You've been given a lucky position, you'll be paired with little Q. Don't expect anyone to go easy on you. C positions, or center rows, fight from front to back, rather than to the left or right, most the time you must fight to the right or left to gain rank, excepting C fighters. It's kind of a hot seat, because you'll be at the very back, but it's the fastest way to gain rank. Someone else can challenge you at the end of practice from a second or fourth row position, but only once per week. Since you're the newest, people will likely try to take advantage. I just got moved into the hot spot myself, don't worry when you lose. It happens. Just stay in your square and do your best to keep up. Got it?”Dorian wanted to say hell no or ask why he hadn't been informed of a ranking system before. Instead, he just asked, “What's so special about C-1?”

“I have to spar with the instructor.” Kurt replied, a bit of green on his face. “Don't make fun, at least not here, okay?”

Dorian nodded, finding his square, and took position with his staff.

After a few more minutes, everybody seemed to be in their appropriate places. Dorian was so intent on listening in he hadn't taken a moment to inspect who he'd be sparring with. It was a girl, long auburn hair tied up tight in a ponytail, standing with the posture any scout would be proud of. Before inspecting her any further, the master trapper began speaking.

“We have a few outsiders here today, mostly those who haven't made it in for a refresher. These are the men and women who will be defending your travel for the next three days journey to the festival and will be protecting you and your families on the way back. They do this as volunteers, so remember to be grateful. Any others that feel they are qualified enough to make guard, please see me after practice today.” He took a moment to look some people in the eye, which Dorian could barely tell from how far back he was. The master trapper began pacing as he continued in his gruff voice.

“Today, we are working through basic stances, most of you should be familiar with. We will be emphasizing neutral and offensive stances today and working the transitions between. Please, begin your stretches, and we'll get started.”

After everybody got down, and followed the stretching routine Kurt had taught him, the instructor spoke up. “Stand tall!” He waited a moment for everybody to get up and take position. “Out in the Wilds, it is life or death. The sphere of our world is only limited to where we can survive. Assuming you're here to avoid becoming bear scat, I expect professionalism. Do not test me, I have no compunctions with leaving you out to die.” He paused again, letting it sink in. “Pay attention and don't forget your footing!” He bellowed this last part right in the face of someone standing next to Kurt.

“Follow closely, this is the drill we'll seek to emulate today.” He took position and presented an example. He shouted “Mid!” Taking a balanced stance, the staff extended in front of himself at a diagonal. “Left def off!” He bellowed before raising his right hand, standing the pole up right, shoving left, twisting, fluidly moving into an offensive stance. With right hand extended, dominant foot forward he shouted again, “Off Def Mid!” He flicked the stuff up, then down hard into the dirt. Using the ground as a pivot point, he set his weight against the staff to resume his balance stance, twisting out in a large arc. He held for a moment, then continued his instruction.

“If you are dealing with a larger animal you will want to plant your stave in the dirt, balance against it to assume your offensive stance. Observe.”

He went through the process again, but this time, instead of shoving left, he lanced the staff into the earth, then twisted to unearth it, using the pole to dance past the slowest portions of the movement. “It always comes down to balance, any one idiot with a stick can fend off a raccoon, but fighting against a boar, or wolves jumping at you, you'll need to have a point of leverage that can outmatch them, otherwise, you'll get knocked on your ass and you'll end up as pretty as me.” He paused again, then said, “If you're lucky.” He smiled looking smug, and Dorian had to admit, like one mean son of a bitch. Not that Dorian was pissing himself or anything, but something about the way the man looked reminded Dorian of the mountain lion that had attacked him, something intimidating on a primal level.

They started practicing, taking the movement slow but together. Thankfully, Dorian's father had taken some extra time to teach him a few movements that were correct to the trappers. Sadly, the moves weren't universal between the spear training and the staff training, but there was a significant amount of continuity between the stances. The thrusting movements were comparable, but the spear training went through multiple different angles, whereas the staff didn't care about practicing some things like overhead thrusts, or foot strikes, instead focusing more intently on sweeps. With animals, it was about a swift kill. Either hunting directly, or, the more likely scenario, you were being attacked by a beast with a growling stomach.

Dorian struggled to find his feet, whether he was nervous on his first day or excited he wasn't sure. He started the movements properly, would fumble, and recover by the end, making a sloppy display compared to those around him. Essentially, he knew where he should end up, just not the way to get there properly.

Dorian idly wondered at how disadvantaged the system was. By putting the worst at the back, they would struggle on making out the details of the instructor’s movements, thus making it harder for them to rise, whereas being closer to the front means you could see well, and thus were more likely to get a visit from the trainer in person. Apparently, making master status meant you didn't walk further than you had to. Damn.

Still, Dorian made his way like everyone else at the back did, by inspecting those around him. Feeling too bashful to inspect the in front of him, he inspected her challengers. One, a bald man that had to be in his late sixties, the second, a stocky caretaker that seemed to have shoulders that eclipsed his own. Then again, he was young.

Despite the age of either of them, their coordination was obviously poor, their movements jarring compared to the smooth movement Dorian had seen the rest of his family perform. Training with the best makes you the best, Dorian mused to himself. Perhaps he should bother to do some staff work with Kurt next chance he has.

Not sure how to place his feet with the staff planted, he finally decided to inspect the girl in front of him. She outclassed her two challengers to either side, her movements were relatively precise. He watched as she lowered her mass to press against the staff in front of herself, to pop up again. He tried to mimic her but was sluggish. He wasn't used to lowering his weight so quickly, and it took several rotations to get it down.

“Nice one, tumble butt.” Dorian distinctly heard in his mind. Finally having a better feel for when he was receiving thoughts from his brother, he was able to maintain whether he was actively sending and receiving or not. He wasn’t and was relatively sure of it. He kept a straight face but stumbled a bit in the next movement. Laughter echoed in his head. He shot her a glance with an outraged glare, her eyes went wide momentarily. Those eyes… yes, Dorian recognized them. Brown eyed Quena stared back at him, pale in the autumn backdrop. Dorian hadn't seen her since the first time he thought she was Sending. Of course, he had seen her at official events like the village meetings, or the Priorius sermon, but was too bashful to go speak with her. Dorian wondered often if she had heard him back, or if his imagination was getting the better of him. Now he was sure she had to be a Priorius.

Trying not to make a scene over the revelation, he focused and kept in line with the movements of everybody around. He kept himself shut off from the telepathy but couldn't help but feel an unerring sense of concern emanating from in front of him. She was going to get him caught.

Master Kel started shouting a continuation of the lesson. “Most beasts you'll have to deal with are great cats, boar and wolves. More often than not, you'll never deal with a bear attack. Bears don't like large crowds, and too many noises, whereas cats and wolves like to hunt the vulnerable. Since you will likely be first or last in your march, you will be most exposed. Remember, use your staves to parry the bulk when they lunge, having the staff out in front of you may be enough to get them to back off, but yelling helps. Remember, to fight these things, you must be as primitive as they are. Shout, scream, yell, and snarl at any given opportunity, not only will this raise the alarm for everybody else, but it will intimidate them. Slow practice today will be the lunge and parrying it. Do not forget, this is to synthesize an animal attack, the parry against your partner won’t carry the weight of a full lunge by a vicious animal that thinks your legs look tasty. Still, reaction time is key. Low-side, you parry first, those at higher ranks will follow suit and rotate. I will demonstrate.”

Kurt stepped to the front, bowed at the class, then took stance against Master Kel. He bowed at Kurt, and Kurt followed suit. He shouted a hardy “Begin!” and Kurt lashed out, taking one step before vaulting into the air, using his weight he stabbed out at the instructor's center of mass. As he did, Master Kel planted his staff out in front of himself, anticipated the strike, and simply leaned the staff over. Once Kurt's strike began to reach out, the master anticipated, leaned the staff over and essentially scooped the oncoming strike over, moving himself out of the way in the process. He spun deftly, just as they had been practicing, and pulled the staff free. He found his offensive stance, and Kurt took up a neutral one. The master lunged out, but Kurt was surprisingly deft and copied the maneuver perfectly. They centered again and bowed.

“Well done, Kurt.” Dorian heard the instructor mumble. Then he shouted to the rest of the class, “You may begin, I'll be around to inspect you in due course.” He walked over to Kurt and shared some words with him, but nothing Dorian could make out from how far off he was.

The entire practice yard went a little less rigid and began exchanging words and taking places. Dorian looked over at his partner, feeling green. Not knowing what to say, Dorian didn't say anything, his nerves getting the best of him. “You ready?” Quena asked, and Dorian just nodded.

He took his place, taking his stance. He wasn't breathing heavily anymore, but earlier in the practice he struggled to keep up. After a little while, he seemed to be able to keep up without issues, but now his heart was in his throat.

“Gwendos, don't drop dead on me. Partner or not, I'm not helping your fat ass up.” Dorian heard this in his head and glared at the girl. She bowed, Dorian mimicked her.

As Dorian lifted his head, he saw the second step of her lunge, she had already begun, breaking rotation by starting first. Trying to make up for lost time, he planted his staff attempting to swivel off the attack and out of the way. It was a fifty-fifty chance as to whether he'd guess wrong, right? Apparently, those odds weren't good, because instead of blocking the attack, he ended up guiding it directly between his legs. Lights of pain shot across his vision, he tried to swerve away but the pain was debilitating. He completed the movement, sloppily, and rested against his staff. He fell to his knees, the pain throbbing throughout his body.

He heard laughter echoing all around him, and at least ten different voices in his head, all making shrewd comments about him. One person, a boy a few years older Dorian guessed, voiced the words aloud, “what a fat piece of shit.” His partner chided him for not paying attention and resumed sparring but the embarrassment Dorian felt was overwhelming. Tears started to fall from his face, but rather than quitting he ignored the pain and stood back up. He shut off his telepathy and bared his teeth. It was his turn to strike.

He took two strides and struck down after giving a half-hearted leap. He felt stiff as he did so, and Quena snorted at his poor form. She blocked the strike, pivoted, but before entering her stance proper, with stunning accuracy, she struck out with the staff and tripped Dorian. He fell hard, his momentum too much to bear.

As Dorian fell, he put an arm out to prevent the worst of it. A loud “pop” echoed out from his forearm. A series of hisses came from the others at practice, and several people stopped what they were doing to come check on what was going on.

In his mind, he heard her say, “Big boy gets taken down by a little girl. How pathetic.” Anger beginning to boil, he turned over and stared at her. He grabbed his staff trying to use it to stand up, but a pain shot down his forearm that seemed to shoot lightning down his body. He looked at it, now seeing that his forearm was bent at a bad angle, looking almost like the noodles he made for the wintertime soups.

None so pleased, Dorian waved away the people coming to help him. “It's okay, just a tumble.” He murmured pleasantly to them. Two of them went back to practice, but a third gave him a disbelieving look, before deciding it wasn't her problem to deal with.

Feeling pale, and probably looking it, Dorian stood and put himself into a guard position. He bowed at the girl, and took position, grimacing at the pain. She looked at him, smirking about something. Dorian would have been curious, but she projected before his curiosity peaked. “Wow, so hypothetical. Big, slow, and stupid. All right tubs, if you think you can keep up.” She took two steps, vaulting into the air. Dorian was ready this time, parried the maneuver and came out into his stance proper. It was so fluid, that Dorian himself didn't expect it. It was like he had...

White light seared across his vision, then gray. He lost himself, for a time. Eternity? A moment?He was practicing in the yard; he had practiced every day just to join the rest. He didn't have a fully functional right hand, it was mangled by a large rodent when he was just a babe, two of his fingers were lost and the remaining two fingers and thumb had lost most feeling in them. He had practiced for several seasons, learning how to use the staff against his other limbs to become a greater contender. He wanted the glory, he wanted to win, and not so people would say “despite the bad hand he was great.” No, he wanted the recognition because he simply was the greatest. Not because of my weakness, but because of my own relentless will and strength. He knew, like he knew the sun would rise, he would be champion of the Valley Tournament. They would name a house after him, he would become a legend.

Time drifted, he felt sensations of heartbreak, sadness, success, and victory. His thoughts became muddled, and the white came. Like for a brief time his senses had fallen asleep but came abruptly awake. Jarring, Dorian was back into himself and not a moment had passed. He felt like he had lived a lifetime as that other person, but he couldn't recall...

His thoughts were cut off by Quena. “Your go.” Dorian nodded, suddenly feeling out of body. This wasn't his body, was it? Fat, and slow, no grace, no musculature. A child, a lump of clay yet to be molded. As the thought came to Dorian, he grinned to himself.

I will mold myself to match the fire I feel.

Pulling on the memories, Dorian came out, and deliberately took a stutter step, dragging his leg and moving his hip like he would be going left, instead he took one step right and hopped off as best he could. Mid-air, he twisted, putting the full force of his body weight behind him. Despite the well-placed parry Quena had attempted, it was no match for the force Dorian had applied. He was tubs, after-all. His staff simply kept going, and Quena's reaction time wasn't prepared for it. His staff caught her thigh, hard, she gasped but managed to finish the movement to land in her offensive stance. She shouted in Dorian's mind, “What the fuck?!” The mental shout that followed came with a charge, trying to take the initiative, but Dorian was ready.

Just before Quena struck out at him, he activated his telepathy, shouting back at her. “Would you cut it out?!” Her strike wavered, and using the staff to his advantage, he gripped it in the cusp of his upper arm and pivoted his footing back to an aggressive stance. He looked at her, and spoke through his mind, “please, just stop sending.”

“Hey Q, this bear scat giving you problems?” Came a voice from behind him.

Quena looked shocked, so Dorian spoke up. “Na, she's giving the bear scat more problems than it can handle.” He said it off offhandedly, trying to jest over the serious situation the newcomer had stumbled into.

“I wasn't talking to you, fat fuck,” replied the voice.

Not taking his eyes off his sparring partner, mostly out of mistrust for her tactics, he replied to the voice. “Rather fat than ugly, fat people can always lose weight.” When he turned to look at the newcomer he realized he was looking directly at someone's stomach. Raising his head, the young man was about Kurt's age. Dorian realized it was the same voice as earlier, and finally, gazing at the kid's face, he knew him. His name was Bo, and he was related to the Smiths. He was slightly taller than Kurt with short, cropped hair, but lacked the muscularity Kurt possessed. His body was relatively lean and was one of the wiry types that always seemed to be a bit stronger and faster than one would expect. His tall outline loomed over Dorian; his face shadowed by the sun.

It was at that moment that Dorian recalled an accident down at the smithy. The lack of Steelfyre had led to some poor qualities around the smithy, one of impure lumps had exploded right near Bo's face, leaving one side hideously scarred and pocked. Dorian moved to put his hands up, to apologize for the joke he had made, but what happened next occurred so fast that Dorian had no way to respond.

Bo hooked Dorian over his broken arm, cupping his forearm by Bo's armpit, the pain that winced down Dorian's arm was breathtaking. Holding Dorian's arm tight, he shot out several blows to Dorian's face. The first, a direct shot to his nose, had stunned Dorian. Not that it was such an earth-shattering strike or anything, what mostly stunned him was how unbidden the sudden attack was.

By the time the second and third strike came, blood had burst forth from Dorian's nostrils, and each follow-up strike had splatted blood on Bo's fists and across Dorian's vision. Finally realizing he was under assault, Dorian tried to get away, dropping his weight to get his arm out of the grip of his assailant. He thought it was a clever idea, but Bo was planted firmly. As Dorian dropped, Bo squeezed tight on his arm, and instead of wrenching himself free, his arm began twisting at an impossible angle.

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The whimper that echoed from Dorian's throat was cut short as Bo let go. Dorian hit the ground with enough force to push the air out of his lungs. Before he could breathe, Bo was on him again, shouting obscenities. He struck again, once against Dorian's eye, the other his lip. He was coming down for a third blow when a mass shoved Bo off him.

Dazed and a bloody mess, he was hoping he'd simply lose consciousness. No such luck.

He turned over onto his stomach, clutching at his broken arm. Bringing his knees up, and resting there, Dorian inspected his mangled arm. The blur of people around him became something he was only passively aware of, the shouting even less so. As he looked, the shock and horror of the situation roiled through his body. Now that he was aware of what had happened, he was uncontrollably upset. He let out a soft murmur and clutched his arm to his body. A lump began to form in his throat. His eyes were watering, so he shut them in shame, keeping them clamped so tight it hurt his brow.

“I swear, by the gods, if I ever see you here again, I'll make those scars on your face look like beauty marks! You worthless spit of a Smith spawn bastard! Leave this yard before I call the Diggers!” It was Master Kel, Dorian realized. He heard shuffling and muffled shouts; they were coming from the other direction. Dorian cleared his eyes, seeing Kurt flailing madly. The muffled shouts were from him, as six people, two of them adults and twice his size, were holding Kurt back. There was spit flying from his mouth, the rage unyielding. It was the first time Dorian could honestly say he'd seen someone frothing mad.

Dorian, still dazed and unsure what to do, used his one good arm to leverage his staff back up. The lump in his throat subsided enough that he could breathe. He stood, tears streaming down his face. He cupped the staff to his shoulder, leaning on it slightly. Hand now free, he used his left to put his mangled right inside the tuck of his oil stained, now blood stained, tunic. Feeling surreal, not sure if he was driven by shock or duty, he walked back to the square Quena was in, wiped his running eyes against his shoulder, and took a one-handed stance.

In awe of Dorian's stupidity, Quena mouthed the words, “What are you doing?” but Dorian heard it in his head. Reacting in a way that was just as primal as his older brother, he whipped a mental demand at her. “Stop sending!” he roared, as he felt his own mental fortitude begin to slip.

Typically, when Dorian would send it was expressed as words, but this time it was pure intention. It was something more akin to the wild animals he could pick up on than speaking to his brother, but this somehow carried a force. She staggered as though she had been struck. Before anything came of it though, Master Kel had made his way over to investigate Dorian. “What do you think you're doing there, Lad?” Dorian was still teary eyed, and it took him a moment to clear his throat enough to respond. When he did, it came out shaky. “Um, continuing practice, uh, sir?”

He heard Kurt stop fighting, Dorian looked to see his brother gawking open mouthed. Then starting low, a throaty chuckle. Then ever louder, it evolved into a bellowing laugh. Then the others joined him, starting slow, then turning into the kind of laughter you could only catch outside of the Brewer's trade house towards the end of the night. Even Master Kel, gruff as he was, started in. Dorian, still confused, dazed, and in a wreck of a state, blushed beat red. Embarrassed, and he didn’t even understand why.

“Aye, practice is done for you today, but a few weeks and we'll have ya back.” Dorian, now completely sure he had botched everything about the day said, “Sir, I, I can't let my parents down. They worked hard to get me here, I...” He tapered off, tearing up again, and had to hold back a sob. He knew he was a pitiful wreck and felt the fear of letting his family down so greatly that he shook as he tried to find the words.

A hand rested on his shoulder, somehow calming. “Don't be worryin' about practice, there'll be a better day for that. If'n that heart you're bearing there is any indication, we'll be glad to have you in the ranks. Come with me now, we've got a date with the caretakers back in town.” Dorian's head bobbed, somewhere between dazed and confused. Still flushed with embarrassment he pointedly found something interesting on the ground and inspected it thoroughly.

“Back to practice you fish! Kurt, with me.” The master trapper ushered Dorian along, but before he got far, he heard Quena in his head. “I'm sorry.” It wasn't an “I'm sorry for fighting you like an asshole” it was more of a “I'm sorry you got the shit kicked out of you.” Disregarding this, Dorian responded to her, mind to mind. “Stop sending so much, keep a low profile around the Priorius. I don’t know if I’ll be attending the festival now, but we should talk.” There was silence for a time, then her voice echoed through his mostly vacant head, “When?”

Dorian replied tersely, “Soon.”

It took a little while, but she responded. A distant and quiet “okay.”

Kurt caught up, and before he could say a word, Master Kel spoke quietly and in control. “You will not assault that boy. You will not assault that family. His punishment for behaving that way is banishment from the practice yard, which is enough. Little Dorian here looks rough, but he'll be fine.”

Kurt tried to protest, but Kel shut it down immediately. “Unless, of course, you want to enter the Grand Valley Tournament without my teaching?” He chuckled softly, and Kurt's mouth made a stern line. “That's what I thought. Besides, Bo was a keg of Gwam dust, I knew it the first day he showed up. All he needed was an excuse, your brother just happened to be it. The Smiths don't have many rights, but they pass through the Wilds enough, mining ore and such, that I couldn't rightfully say no. If you attack the boy, it'll leave me without a grievance, ya understand? I knew he'd be trouble, and I don't want him in this yard.”

They stopped walking, and Master Kel checked with Kurt, and Kurt gave a terse nod, and a “Yes, sir,” without making eye contact. “Tell your da he owes me double what we discussed. Come get Dorian in a few hours, I think Dianna will be there if I have any guess. Now get back to practice, there shouldn't be much left for instruction, just have them go live for a bit. I should be back before challenges.” Kurt looked at Master Kel, then at Dorian with an eyebrow. Dorian nodded, and Kurt turned and jogged back to the practice field.

The trip was quiet for a time, and Dorian did his best not to look at the disfigured mess that was his forearm. “Uh, Master Kel?” The scarred and weathered man slowed his pace a spell and made eye contact with Dorian. “Aye?”

“How much did it cost for you to take me up as a trainee?” Looking guilty for asking, Dorian dropped the eye contact, and said, “Sir.”

Grinning, Master Kel said, “Your father is a fantastic cook, as I'm sure you know. He makes these wonderful Kressian dumplings, so spicy you'll catch fire in the privy.” He half chuckled at his own joke, “I told him if he'd make me a batch o' those if I'd promise to train you. He also made me promise not to tell my wife what I'd been eating.” Still chuckling, he resumed his pace and Dorian nearly staggered at the absurdity of it all. Dumplings?

They made their way to the caretaker's building, inside the air was just slightly warmer than outside, but the smell was of alcohol, herbs, spices, and something... damp? He wasn't sure, but he did recognize the Woman approaching them. Diana came out of the door, smiling broadly.

“Did our little Dorian here get himself into trouble on his first day?” The man, jovial before, now looked brooding. Dorian wondered to himself if this was how he idled, and if he himself would benefit from such a behavior. “More than a little, you any good at mending a bone?”

Diana's face went from polite kind to serious in the blink of an eye. “Come, let’s see. Master trapper, I don't have anyone else here now save the sick. I'll need some assistance.” He nodded at her, and they were escorted to the back room. It had tall windows on one wall, the other filled with racks containing, Dorian assumed, of medical supplies and tools. She led the way to a table, and gestured Dorian to it. He frowned, not sure if he could jump so high. He wanted to protest, but Master Kel, grabbing Dorian under the armpits like he was a babe, picked him up and set him down on the edge of the table. Feet dangling, Dorian wiggled to find a comfortable position, failed, and gave up figuring he wouldn't be there forever.

“Let’s see it.” Dorian grimaced, paling a bit, and slowly withdrew his arm. He didn't want to look at it, but judging by his appearance, he doubted the wound would look half as bad as he did. Doubtfully, half as bad as he felt. Now that he wasn't moving so much, he came to the discernible conclusion that he was miserable. His eye was swelling up, his head was throbbing, his lip was swollen, and he would consider himself lucky if his nose wasn't broken. Everything else hurt too, an overall body ache that throbbed with every beat of his heart.

Getting his arm free was just another throbbing sensation in his cascade of pain, seasoned lightly with sharp stabs of agony. He attempted to extend his arm when Diana gasped, then hissed. “Bo.” Master Kel said, “He'd be here too if Kurt hadn't been held back. But this lad here, he's got a good heart, so if'n ya don't mind, say whatever you have to say straight.” Eyebrow lifted; he gave her a glare that she seemed to squirm under despite her confident expression.

“It's a clean break, should mend but we must get it back in place, and we'll have to do a line wrap infused with stints. It'll be a hindrance, but he should be able to fulfill whatever duties he has, so long as he doesn't put too much stress on it. But I'll need your help to put everything straight.” She stopped looking at Kel and was now looking at Dorian. “I need you to lay back now and rest your arm across the table.” Dorian did so, wincing as Master Kel came to a side. He patted Dorian's shoulder gently while Diana left to retrieve some supplies.

“I don't like doing it twice, so keep him held tight. I'm going to set it.” Then she spoke softly, handing Dorian something porous. “This is Dulheart, a type of mushroom that will lessen the pain. Bite down on this when it hurts.” She handed it to Dorian, and he put it in his mouth, getting ready for the pain. “Do you want to count Dorian or should I?”

Dorian replied, mouth full, “I will.” He took a deep breath through his nose, readying himself. Then another, so deep he shook. Still muffled, he counted, “one.” Breath, “Two.” Deep breath, Deeper, “Thr-” Sharp jarring pain rocked through him, he bit down hard, and as the pain made its way to a crescendo, the black at the corners of his eyes enveloped all.

He woke up some time later, the sun was out but not for much longer. The quiet of the room was eerie, and Dorian's mind wandered briefly in the serenity. He pondered; how many people had died right there on one of the many beds that lined the room. For the first time he wondered as to how long his people had been there, how long had this building stood. This led him down a path of wondering how many people had died on the very bed he lay on, which finally inspired a bit of motion.

Doing a brief body check, he noted his head hurt and he was bleary eyed. Despite this, he found an unyielding cast of line wood that cased his forearm, then cleared his eyes as best he could to inspect it. He knew his head was a bit foggy, likely from that mushroom thing. There was a terrible flavor in his mouth, he tried to move some saliva about to clear his mouth, but his mouth was dryer than his mother's cooking.

Inspecting himself, his shabby tunic had been removed and laundered. The blood on his face was gone, but he could feel how much more space the parts of his face were now taking up. It was amazing how things that don't bother you are always out of notice, until they were of course. Looking around, enough light through the windows kept things relatively clear but whatever had him drugged made him feel like he was floating a bit.

He got up, swaying unsteadily, but was able to get dressed in short order. It was still quiet, which was odd. There was usually somebody at the ward. Looking about, and not noticing anybody, he made his way in to where he had been treated, where the supplies were.

Upon entering, he was astonished at his luck. It was quiet, and he was fairly sure there wasn't anybody there. To be sure he opened his mind to what was happening nearby. Nothing, quiet. Like a muscle, he flexed it further, and he picked up something base. Primal. Like...

He shut down his receiving with all the force he could command. He blushed furiously for a moment, then made his way to the supplies. On the way, he spotted a large tome, it had been left open. Out of curiosity, and the knowledge he would be able to get away with it, he snooped about, flipping through the book until he came to a page talking about Priorius.

“Under extreme circumstances in youth it is important to remember what signs to look for. Typical manifestation of Priorius chosen to involve a wide array of unnatural circumstances, of which a healer will not be likely to witness. However, long term use of an untrained Priorius coincides with several signs of malnutrition simultaneously. The physical signs may appear as follows:

1. Regular headaches

2. Severe muscle cramping

3. Extreme and regular vertigo

4. Wound that refuse to clot

5. Dry skin

6. Pale complexion

7. Depression

8. Poor cognition

9. Swollen glands in the neck

10. Yellowing teeth and nails

11. Obesity

12. Puffy face

13. Muscle fatigue or weakness

14. Sensitivity to cold

15. Seizures

16. Abnormally fast healing

17. Anorexia

Any of these cases may be cause for alarm for your patient's health. If you believe you have a patient exhibiting more than one of these symptoms simultaneously, please be in immediate contact with either the head of your band of healers or speak with a Priorius priest. There is a supplement, which will be labeled with the universal symbol located at every ward in the valley. The use of this supplement should be logged, failing to do so can result in immediate expulsion from your trade, and in extreme cases, banishment.

It is best to serve no less than three thimbles in water to keep the patient hale but is recommended to be given with a sedative if at all possible.

As Dorian read the last of the page, attempting to turn it, he heard a loud thump followed by laughter. He knew he should bolt out the door but was now seriously curious as to this what this supplement would do. He got up and started searching for anything that had a symbol on the glass jar rather than a written word.

He scanned the rows of herbs and medicines, without much luck. Taking his time, he went through all of them again, rigorously inspecting each one for the “universal symbol.” Not having much luck, he pondered what that symbol would be? Then, figuring that the medicines would likely be placed relative to how often they're used, he scanned the room looking for any additional storage. He went to a desk he had noticed earlier but thought nothing of and began pilfering through it. Part of him felt guilty for even thinking of stealing, but the other part of him thought it was criminal to take somebody away from their family for something he never had the choice of. Regardless, the last drawer Dorian tried to inspect was locked. He considered simply ripping it open, but that would point directly to himself as he was the only registered patient now.

The distant laughter echoed again, and Dorian paused, unsure. He thought he knew that laugh... He mentally sent, “Kurt, is that you?”

A slightly feminine yelp came from, what Dorian was assuming, a distant room that was upstairs. Laughter echoed, then a questioning tone. Some murmuring followed when Dorian heard a reply. “If you don't mind, I'd prefer it if you didn't chat while I was in... engaged. What do you want?” The reply was terse, and Dorian knew he was interrupting, but at that point he really didn't care.

“Alright, you lecherous excuse for a protective brother, does the one tainted by your attentions happen to have a set of keys on her?”

Dorian received a mental snort, followed by “Yes, but they may not be on her person now. Want me to do something?”

“Any chance you could get them away from her, and somehow out here?”

“Not likely, wait I think I have an idea. Give me a minute.” Dorian waited, too bashful to listen in on what was happening. He took his time climbing the stairs, the conversation becoming louder as Dorian approached, but remained indistinguishable. After some more conversing, then some questions, a key slid out from behind the door, coming to a stop several feet away.

Despite being round, Dorian always thought of himself as surprisingly sneaky. This was in part due to the consistent and mutual terrorizing between his brother and himself, another part from terrorizing others with said brother, and most importantly, being bulky. The last might not seem like any big deal, but when you weigh more than most people, just bumping into something can cause a chain reaction of destruction that would leave you embarrassed and responsible. It led Dorian to develop an understanding and attentiveness to spatial awareness; the amount of sound he made, how heavy his footfalls were, and how slow he could move or how fast depending on circumstances.

He took the first few steps gingerly enough and slowed himself dramatically. Now remembering he had chewed the mushroom earlier; he became overtly cautious. He knew his balance would be off, so he took short strides, walking heel to toe.

He was there within a few seconds, he crouched forward and froze. The door opened. Taking a slow breath through his nose, he steeled himself to get busted. His heart was racing when she replied to something Kurt said, agreeing and shutting the door. Dorian nabbed the key and made his way to the stairs.

Feeling catlike, he glided down the stairs with a bit of mischievous glee. Despite the cast on his arm and having gotten his ass kicked harder than he had ever heard of, he felt a surprisingly good. He made his way to the drawer and opened the locked compartment without much effort. Inspecting the contents, there was a logbook, three glass jars, and one stone. On the stone jar was a symbol, an infinity symbol with a circle blocking out the center, and another circle inside that one.

He grabbed it and looked around for an empty container of some kind. He didn't see anything at first glance, but when he walked through the kitchen, he found two small glass vials labeled “Placebo.” Dorian shook his head, if the containers most often dirty were the same ones most often used, then the most common medication the caretakers administer is fraudulent. He wondered if that was due to their negligence or to how often people come in for medical attention that didn't really need it.

After musing for a moment, he got back to the task at hand. Having a sudden inspiration, Dorian filled the vial as best he could with the chalky white powder. Afraid of taking too much, not sure exactly how much would be noticed, he filled half the finger sized vial. He found some cork, rummaged through it quietly, and inserted it into his container. All that was left was to make sure he had a safe place to put it. The pockets on his tunic were too shallow and would jut out if he simply pocketed the vial. Putting it on his belt would only get it broken...

Looking down at his cast, he could see a fold on the inside of his forearm. I wonder, Dorian thought as he started swabbing his mouth for spit and licked the fold.

With shocking speed his tongue became dryer than the Kressian hills, he couldn't spit if he wanted to. The fold he licked felt slightly malleable. Peeling it back, he placed the vial in, covered it, and held it for the brief minute it took to dry. Gods, that stuff is useful.

He replaced the stone jar to its former local, locked the drawer up, then made his way up the stairs. He was walking quietly to put the key back when the door swung open. Not halfway like before, and Diana stood there staring at the key in Dorian's hand. Eyebrow raised, Diana asked, “How long have you been up?” It was honest curiosity, nothing suspicious.

Remembering that his body wasn't in the best shape, he put on the mask of exhaustion. “I just woke up; I was looking around for someone when I found this.” He said, words slurred on his dry tongue. “Could I trade you for some water?”

She brightened, “Oh you poor thing, I completely forgot. That mushroom can give you some nasty cottonmouth.” She took the key, smiling at him. “I'll get you some water, you should head back to your cot, your brother should be here any minute to get you.” Dorian gave a mental snort to the white lie, even if Dorian hadn't spoken to him telepathically, he would be suspicious of her now blushing face and frizzled hair. Still, he had to go through the motions, so he nodded and slowly made his way down the stairs, using the walls for support as he made his way. He didn't need it, but he figured for how bad he probably looked, and probably should feel, he best makes a proper show of it. He found his way to his cot and sat.

Diana approached with a stone mug and pitcher. She filled the mug, and Dorian quietly thanked her. Finally slowing, he took a long drink, nearly finishing the mug in a single gulp. Diana laughed, “Yeah, that stuff always gives me the worst dry mouth. Make sure to hydrate when you get home too.” She reached out with the pitcher and filled the mug back up again. “Despite the dry mouth, it really is some heavy-duty stuff. I'll be sending your brother home with some, chew it when you need it, don't swallow it. I'll have some instructions included for your parents, and no work for the next week or so. That arm is going to be incredibly tender in a few hours, and until the skin has healed enough you shouldn't do anything that can cause it stress.”

It was at that moment that Kurt came around the corner, looking every bit the cocky teenager. He looked at Diana for a moment before he got a look at Dorian. His expression darkened considerably. “Hello Diana, good to see you. Is he all ready to head home?”

She nodded, “Yes, but I've got some things you'll have to take with you. Let me write down some instructions, I'll be right back.” She took the pitcher but left the mug, which Dorian was incredibly grateful for.

When she left the room, Kurt spoke quietly. “I had no idea you'd look this bad. How do you feel?”

Dorian shrugged, “about half as bad as you look.” He grinned then said, “I honestly feel great. I don't know why, but I don't feel a thing.”

Kurt, now looking curious, came close. “Let me see your eyes.” Dorian opened his eyes as wide as he could, his left eye only opening about three quarters of the way. Kurt inspected them, then laughed.

“Of course, you feel great, Dorian, you're as high as a bird right now.”

Brow knitting, Dorian wasn't sure. He said as much, and Kurt just chuckled in response. “You've never been drugged before, have you? I could have some fun with it, but I'm not so cruel. Well, on the upside, you'll be home with mom for the next few days since da and I are heading to the festival.”

Dorian wasn't really upset about not going, the high priest always made him feel uneasy. Still, waiting around the house for a week straight wasn't his idea of an enjoyable time either.

Kurt got somber again, then said, “I should kill that bastard, ya know.”

“I know you want to, but you don't want to get kicked out, do you? Besides, what's this tournament I heard about?” Dorian was honestly curious, but he also wanted to change the subject. The memory of the entire violent experience was still very raw to him and dwelling on it wouldn't do him any good now.

“Oh, yeah that.” Kurt replied, somewhat bashfully. “I didn't want to tell anyone about it, but I was thinking about entering the tournament. They hold it once every two years in Gwendon, but mom and dad don't like to talk about it.” He took a long breath and sighed.

“Why don't they like to talk about it?”

“Apparently, it's where they met. They met early in the tournament and ended up facing off in the semi-finals. Mom won, of course, and dad ended up taking third.”

“Wait, what do you mean of course? Mom is like a foot shorter than dad is.” Dorian replied, confused.

“Oh, you've never seen mom spar, have you? She's like a whirlwind, all fluid movements and combinations. She used to instruct most staff classes, but since she got pregnant, she hasn't been keen on too much physical activity.”

“Then why don't they like to talk about it?” Dorian asked, unsure.

“I don't know exactly; I know that mom was stripped of her win a year later when she married. It's a touchy subject around her, and whenever I brought it up dad would just find a way to change the subject.”

Dorian wanted to be pensive, but realized he didn't have the clarity of thought at that moment to contend with too much thinking. Instead, he just grinned at his brother. “Think you'll win?”

“Oh, Kressor's blackened balls, I don't know. We don't have much interaction with the other villages. I know that I'm getting close to capping my age group, fifteen and up all compete together, ten to fourteen are part of the junior division. Anything younger and you can't compete at all. I think I have fair odds to be honest.” He rubbed the back of his head.

Diana came back with a stone jar, out of the corked top was a piece of paper. “All right, this should be everything. Make sure your mother gets the instructions, and don't let him get the cast wet. The cast should stay on for the next three months, the break was bad but clean. He'll likely have some residual pain, but he's young yet.” She looked down and smiled at Dorian, “Don't itch it too much.”

She turned on her heel and left the room, appearing as though she had a whole lot of busy work to get to. Looking at Kurt, Dorian noticed him blushing furiously, holding a piece of paper in his hand. Realizing he had been standing there like a doofus for too long, he shoved the paper in his pocket, and gestured Dorian to get up to leave. Dorian centered himself and made his way out the front with his brother in stride.

They walked some before Dorian asked “So, what, exactly, were you doing up there?” The nighttime air was a relief, slightly cool but fresh. There was little to no breeze and the local flora sat idly, the night quiet outside the sound of their feet on the dirt trodden road.

Kurt blushed again, then coughed. “I don't know what you mean, little brother.” He replied with a fist up to his mouth.

Dorian scowled at him, “I'm not that ignorant, high or not. Aren't you a little young to be making babies?”

“I'd sock you one but I'm afraid I'd break you. No Dorian,” Kurt sighed dramatically. “Nothing so deviant as all that. She's a bit older than me, and I like her, I just don't think I should yet. That's something special, and we're both young. I'm not ready to be a dad, and even if I were, I don't think she's ready to be a mother.” Kurt looked pensive for a moment, then said, “I will say, she's pushier than I am.”

Dorian guffawed, “I highly doubt that.”

“No, I'm serious. Don't forget, we have a name to our house, that's something that a whole lot of people are after. The fact that we might have a name for both sides soon is an even bigger concern. If dad's side becomes legitimized, we can freely choose trades and get better options for our own children in the future. It's a big deal, Dorian, and before you know it women will start coming after you for the same reason.”

“I really don't think many women will be all that interested,” Dorian said grabbing his gut. “Unless they're after my secret roll recipe.” squeezing the sides of his gut, he bobbed it once.

Kurt's laughter was infectious, and they spent the next bit of the walk home making jibes, jabs, and crude jokes. Finally sobering, Dorian inquired about the rest of the practice. His head had cleared a bit by then, not that his head was foggy before, just that there was a noticeable lack of forethought.

Kurt darkened a little but still replied. “Wasn't bad, did some live sparring, and we had to move some people around to make up for the new vacancies. Everyone in the center row, except myself, moved up a rank. Bo was behind me.” At the mention of the name, Dorian got suddenly heated. He was angry about the assault but didn't know what he could do about it. Seeing Dorian get quiet, Kurt said, “How did you like your training partner?” He grinned sheepishly at Dorian.

“You know, a little warning would go a long way.”

“It's not my fault you have a little crush,” Kurt replied teasingly.”

“I never said that I just wanted to know if I was the only Priorius not caught by the priest.”

“And?” Kurt asked.

“Turns out, she most definitely was sending. She was sending half the practice, I'm surprised nobody else noticed, I heard it all clear as day.”

Kurt just made a “hmm” noise, “suppose it's not safe around her then. Her lack of subtlety could get you caught.” Frowning for a moment, he sighed and said, “I guess I'll have to leave Diana then. Too bad, she makes pretty good company.”Inquisitive, Dorian asked, “Why would you have to leave her?”

Raising an eyebrow, Kurt said, “Don't you know? She's Quena's sister.”

Coming to a stop, and mouth agape, Dorian asked, “That's not why you're... uh... well you know. Courting her?”

Kurt laughed, “I love you little brother, but I won’t lie to you. Of course not, I'm a bit shallow, but not so depraved as to seduce somebody on your behalf.”

Dorian sighed in relief. That would have made him feel guilty for weeks if it were the case. Kurt lifted his finger and said, “but I guess it's one of her many benefits. Speaking of, did you get the stuff?”

Dorian nodded, then tapped his cast. “Folded it over the line cast, that's why I was so thirsty.”

Kurt tapped the side of his head, “nice thinking.”

“How did you get the key away from her anyways?”“Ah, little Dorian, it's not polite to kiss and tell.” Kurt said, jocularly.

“Oh whatever, still nicely done. Think I should try some of this stuff tonight?”

Kurt thought for a moment, then said, “I don't know. You're taking some heavy pain medication; I don't think you should mix the two.”

Disheartened, Dorian started walking again, “you're probably right.”

Kurt heard the disappointment in Dorian's voice, and caught up to him, taking out his stone flask. He gave it to Dorian, “I mean, rather you do it while I'm here to watch then you do it alone later.”

Dorian perked up. He poured a bit of water on the edge of his forearm, then waited for it to absorb. The process didn't take long, and when it was ready he took out the vial.

Not wanting to be rude and begin pouring some of the powder in the flask, Dorian decided to choke the powder down with water. He uncorked the first, letting some sit beneath his tongue, then repeated the process with the water until he finished it.

Passing the water flask back to his brother, and then stashing his thrifty vial, he hacked himself half to death. The bitter aftertaste was somehow stuck in the back of his throat. Going a bit frantic, Kurt checked on him. Dorian waved him away and stood tall. Taking a long breath, he drew deep upon the smell of dead leaves and dirt so prominent in fall time, then exhaled slowly.

Dorian said, “I... I...” Dorian began shaking his limbs violently. Kurt's eyes went wide with alarm.

“I... can't believe you're so gullible.” Dorian finished, relaxing.

Kurt knitted his brows down at Dorian, he just stood smiling, completely innocent.

“That shit doesn't work on me, little brother.” Kurt said, still scowling. “You got in a bad scrape today; I was kind of worried you'd go all stupid strong on him and tear his arms off. Couldn't you have done something?”

Dorian shrugged, “I just didn't think about it at the time. It's not really my first reaction when a situation comes about, and...” he tapered off for a moment. “I don't know much, but I'd like to find out more. There was this lengthy list of signs to be on the lookout for, and I qualify for a few. What I do know is I've got to keep up the guard of sorts, it's like I'm suppressing something. I know if I don't focus on it, I can slip out mentally or start hearing things I'd rather not hear.” He got distracted for a bit when Kurt asked him about what things, which led to a gossipy conversation Dorian felt guilty about later.

When they got back to the subject, Kurt asked, “Do you feel anything? Like from the powder?”

Dorian shook his head, “I don't think so, I do feel more now than I did about a half hour ago.” Dorian checked himself for a moment. He mentally let go of his telepathy for a moment. The effect, normally only thirty yards or so, now echoed to him from everywhere in Metan. It was mostly bundles of jargon talk, what his father was cooking, where the Tanners were heading, the hungry creatures throughout the wood, elderly, children, apprentices and masters, it was like they were all yelling their thoughts at him. He pushed it back down to quiet and sighed.

“Okay, maybe I feel a little something. I think I should wait until the mushroom wears off.” He tapered off, hearing something odd in the woods. Kurt heard the noise and dismissed it. Dorian kept the sensitivity to himself, and they conversed about the practices that Dorian will get to attend in the future and the best tactics at gaining ranks. Apparently, only the top 8 from each class can enter the tournament per age group. Kurt continued filling in gaps in Dorian's knowledge, and Dorian wondered why it was never mentioned before.

Kurt was babbling on about the best ways to gain ranks, and how challenges aren't the only way to move up. He also explained how few people were there, considering the festival being just a few days off, many people gave up their spots to train so that others could get a refresher. Dorian pondered on who else would be there the next time he showed up.

This line of thinking brought him back to what happened earlier that day. Despite being cautious about being a Priorius, something that weighed on his mind regularly, he never considered he could be assaulted like that. He had had run-ins with wild animals in the past, mostly smaller animals, but he had never been the victim of another human's violent intent. As he thought on it, he had short flashbacks, the sound the cartilage in his nose made when it was beaten in, the blood on Bo's knuckles as he pulled back to strike again. It was all so raw in his mind, and as the drugs wore thin, he couldn't keep his head off it. He felt ashamed for getting thrashed so thoroughly, and it happened right in front of the only other Priorius in hiding that he knew about. Reliving the memory, his face started burning at the mockery he knew he would receive. A small sob choked out of him without him realizing it. Suddenly, there was a slight pressure on his shoulder. He heard his brother say, “Don't worry Dorian. We'll get that son of a bitch, I swear it.”

Embarrassed again, Dorian waved him away and wiped his wet cheeks. He took a breath and settled himself down. “I know, I know we will. I guess I just didn't want any of it to happen to begin with.” Looking up at the house, and in a way past it, Dorian mused aloud, “but that's the whole point, isn't it? I mean, there's no story without something of note happening, no triumph without loss, no epic without hardship.”

Kurt looked down at his little brother, curious. “Are we trying a new trade?”

“Huh?”

“All hail, the sage of Metan has come forth. He shall banish your sins with wisdom and banish your bread with his appetite! Behold his gargantuan intelligence which is only matched by his girth!”

Dorian knew that his brother was just jibing at him to cheer him up. “You know, that would have worked if it was remotely funny.” Dorian said looking up. He smiled, “Thanks all the same big brother.”

Kurt smirked a quiet smirk and they didn't speak for the rest of the walk home. Not because of indifference, but because sometimes the company is enough, and words just cheapen something that's already perfect.