It didn’t take Marisol long to search through every nook and cranny of their little shrine. The only sign of Racqein she found was a little note that she desperately didn’t want to read. But she was only able to put it off for a few more minutes as she checked the last area of the shrine; the underground crypt. The dust on Cruxion’s coffin was freshly disturbed even though it had been a few weeks since she had cleaned down there. And Racqein was nowhere to be seen.

Marisol returned upstairs and opened the note under the light of an open window to read it. Racqein was taught to read and write by Cruxion and so his handwriting was neat and elegant like a young lord’s. Marisol loved to look at it. He didn’t write very often so she usually preserved anything he did write. But this insincerely apologetic goodbye, she crumpled up in her hands, “Orfen!”

Orfen was still laying on the altar in a sunbeam. At Marisol’s loud, high shout he covered the cat ears on top of his head and rolled over to point his back to her.

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She grabbed his shoulder and turned him over. “Racqein left!” she said, throwing the note at Orfen before he could gripe at her.

“What?” He sat up and uncrumpled the note and squinted at it with a frown, he never really took to reading and writing like Racqein did.

Marisol grabbed Orfen’s wrist and started to tug him off the altar, “come on. We can probably still catch up to him.”

With an uncomfortable look on his face, Orfen lowered the note and asked, “are you sure you want to go against his wishes? He might get mad.”

“And if he doesn’t have anyone watching his back he might get dead.” She tugged on his arm again and this time he willingly slid off the altar. She grabbed a small bag she had packed and slung it over her shoulder, “come on, let’s go.”