Back in the main hall, in the dining area, Cypur was finishing some traditional warm milk-based drink called 'keibeck'. It had cinnamon in it, some red sweet-and-sour powder he later learned was crushed raspberries, and maple sugar. He never knew such a drink existed.

"So, you like it?" Daero asked.

Cypur licked his lips, tasting it again. "I think I do."

Daero gave a trill and beamed. "She'd love to hear that!"

"Who?" Cypur thought Daero or Kirlan had made this. But his question was ignored as Daero and Kirlan went on to talk in their own language. Cypur wondered what they were talking about and if they could talk about him with him right here. Would 'Cypur' translate, or would they just say 'Cypur'? He listened, but he couldn't catch his name.

"Alright, I need to make my rounds, check up on things," Daero stretched his arms up and headed for the door, "and go to the Third Ring to fetch, uh, well, a couple hours until dinner, you'll be fine, I hope?" he said to Cypur who nodded.

The keibeck was pretty filling and he knew he would last. Once Daero left, Cypur was left alone with Kirlan for the first time. He didn't know what to say. They didn't have anything in common. Besides, now that he thought about it, he was certain one of the Kathula that Alsinda had as her entertainment piece was Kirlan.

We're enemies, practically. He sipped the last bit of keibeck and used his mixing spoon to scoop up the bits of maple sugar that didn't mix in well.

Kirlan tipped back his cup until the last drop fell on his tongue. Then he tapped the mug on his left shoulder.

Noticing Cypur staring he said, "We throw carcasses over our left shoulders to say, 'it was a good meal' or 'thank you for a good catch'. After we got in plates and cups and breakable things, sometimes we tap our left shoulder with it. Always the left as long as it was good. We don't always do it. It's still engrained in my habit."

"Oh yes," Kirlan reached into a bag at his feet, "Wescherlie said to get you these."

It was a mesh bag with Crunch Bars in them. Two were broken in half with a little note on them:

"Maple Sugar and Orange Chocolate you must share with partner in crime. I hate peanuts, so you can have the third one whole."

Oh, Wescherlie. Cypur smiled.

"I could take you to her?"

Cypur's head jerked up. He had forgotten Kirlan was there. Kirlan was clearing up the table, snatching Cypur's cup on the way, but he didn't seem to be hostile.

"Yes, that would be great," he said with a slight smile. "How is she?"

"You'll have to ask. I must make a delivery first. I'll be back in a little minutes."

A little minutes? Cypur smiled after Kirlan turned his back. Daero spoke natural Universal, but Kirlan had trouble. He wondered how Daero came to know so much about the world outside the Third Ring. Kathula never left the Third Ring for centuries.

Since Cypur didn't know how long 'a little minutes' was going to be, he stepped out onto the porch. A hill descended into a grassland with several one-story log houses dotting the pasture. Chimneys had smoke coming out. On the breeze wafted scents of dinnertime—freshly baked bread, roasting meat, and garlic. Kathula children were at play far in the distance and he could almost hear their laughter, playful growls, and short hisses as they chased each other around.

He didn't know what life had been like for them two years ago. Cypur was indifferent to the rest of the world and ready to start Academy. Seeing a bright future and not all the stupid things that followed.

Bright, like the sunset. He ran his fingers through his hair, watching it glimmer in the sunlight. He quite liked himself right now especially after realizing how the entire school might have been sabotaging his life this whole time. How cruel was that?

He recalled Gallen and Rachelle with crazed black eyes, fighting each other for a Rauvuren. Then Rachelle killed Gallen. He drummed his fingers against the porch railing as the memory continued. The horrible storm that night when he and Wescherlie decided to go on together. Both were in search of their parents—the reason for their existence. Why was he gold? Why could she fly?

Now that his Faud seemed to no longer be an issue, he could focus on their original tasks again. But the Zarkentauf plan seemed to be dust right now. How were they going to find anyone to get them in there?

Realization struck with a jolt.

You stupid! Cypur scolded himself. I should've asked Arius! He groaned for being so caught up in the moment. He was only thinking of himself. Blushing into a tomato every which way.

"Too late now," He pounded the railing, "damn it."

"Too late?" Kirlan had joined him on the porch. He sat up on the railing and swung his legs back and forth, making the railing creak. His bushy tail fanned out behind. "A problem?"

What good would it do asking him? Cypur shook his head. This was a Kathula Kathula. He wouldn't know a thing about how the Fourth Ring worked.

Kirlan rubbed the railing. "I polished this spot," he muttered, "You were trying getting to Zarkentauf? Daero can get you there."

Cypur arched a brow. "How do you know that?"

Kirlan shrugged and hopped off. "Tracker, remember? I hunt. Smell. After Berlennia, you were roses."

"Oh, right." He'd forgotten about the soap. "Easy to find, I guess."

"Thankfully. You care about her?" Kirlan pointed gestured over the roof. "Wescherlie."

Cypur nodded, keeping his chin up. "She's my friend."

Kirlan nodded and hopped off the railing to stand next to Cypur, leaning against the railing the same. "Never imagined I would hear words that way. You're a strange Sorcerer."

Somehow, that tickled him and Cypur laughed as Kirlan arched a brow and cocked his head. Maybe he was a strange Sorcerer, but now after knowing Wescherlie and after realizing how twisted Sorcerer society was, he thought of all other Sorcerers as weird.

Later, in a room Kirlan took him to, Cypur lay on the bed, eating a Crunch Bar. The orange one that he found he liked now because it was linked to that memory with Wescherlie. Two different races connected over his favorite food. Now, thanks to that day he had a Faud, a friend, maybe now, a brighter future as well. All he needed to do now was find their parents.

Feeling fine, he thought and remembered some jazz song he heard on a screen show called 'Music of the Humans'. Slow jazz was one style of music, among a few others, that transcended time. Humans never forgot the slow, but catchy tunes even after centuries. Sorcerers, of course, played it in their homes. It tickled the aesthetic pleasure of many. Cypur hummed a tune and softly sang the chorus.

Feel-ing like fly-ing,

Flying to sky-uh.

I'm above every-thing,

on cloud nine.

Hey, hear me from up high

I, oh I, ay-ay, I,

Oh, I'm feel-ing fi-i-ine.

"And then a snap, and a snap." He snapped his fingers and imagined the slow, jazzy tunes that followed. There was a time he couldn't stop thinking of that song. His obsession drove his brother crazy. Jarvur wasn't into that kind of music. Cypur wasn't either. It was just that one song.

Why ever? He wondered when a memory tickled his mind. It was the first time he stepped foot inside Arius' workplace to observe him working magick into swords.

"Wait a moment!" He widened his eyes, sitting up in the bed. That day he had been in awe watching Arius work and wasn't paying close attention to the music at all. When he focused in on the memory, Cypur realized the swordstry was playing that song. It was the first time he had heard it.

"Starlights!" He snickered at the realization. "After all these years?" No wonder he had been so obsessed with the song when it came on. His mind had connected the song with the one thing that made him feel like he was on cloud nine. With a smile, he lay on the bed and hummed the tune from the first verse to the last, over and over until he was called to dinner. Wescherlie couldn't join because of her injury, so he asked if he could take it to her room.

"As long as you're careful," Daero said as he piled plates and bowls on a tray, "because it's hard to remove stains even with magick as you know."

"I'll be careful, I promise." Cypur insisted and noticed Kirlan staring at him. No emotions. Just a straight-faced stare. His whiskers twitched and his lips lifted in a smile. Cypur didn't know what it was about, but he smiled back. For some reason, even though they didn't talk much, they were on good terms, he could tell.

Daero turned his head to Kirlan who was walking away to join the other gathering Kathula. "He's had it rough," he began as he handed the tray to Cypur, "but he's always had the hope that one day races could understand each other. Unlike someone who's always going to be a little suspicious of Sorcerers for quite some time," Daero chuckled and Cypur wondered who he was referring to, "But he sees you and Wescherlie, you youngsters, and he has hope I think that change is not as far away as it sometimes might feel."

Cypur balanced the tray in his arms and wondered if that really was true. And not just between races, but also within a single race. Would Sorcerers ever come to understand one another more and realize that maybe the way they did things today wasn't working? He wondered if all Sorcerers, even the stupid principal who wanted to exile him, were they fine with the way things were?

"So, he, and I, many others are hopeful when we see a difference going out on his or her or their own and trying to find their place in the world, at the same time, unearthing things that have long been hidden."

"Because it's good to unearth the ugly truth." Cypur nodded in agreement. He had long thought there was something wrong with him, but now he was certain it was never about him. It was Sorcerer society.

* * *

As they ate, Cypur told Wescherlie all about what Kirlan and Daero had said about change and about being different. The meal was a piece of meaty pie, some flat bread to dip into a nutmeg-yogurt sauce with salt to taste, and a broth.

"Well," Wescherlie said after listening to him in silence, "I think I taught you a thing or two about slack."

This is about the pie, too? Cypur pursed his lips in thought. "Am I eating that much slack?"

"You had to. You were a Sorcerer trying to be a Sorcerer without really wanting to be a Sorcerer. You get it, right? But that has to be okay, I mean, come on, Sorcerers," Wescherlie rolled her eyes, "you gotta change some time. Admit what's maybe worked for a hundred years needs an upgrade," she said and lay back down in the bed. It was just a few more days of bed and soon she would be ready to test her wings.

Cypur didn't know him being different would even change anything. It seemed to be making it worse. "I'm still a wanted criminal though," he said with a sigh, pushing the tray to the corner of the room. He pulled up a chair to sit beside her.

Wescherlie grabbed his hand with her free one. "Cypur, please! Why is it something awesome happens and the first thing you think about is the downward spiral?"

"Because it's the truth? I don't know. I can't help it. I can't say I'm not wanted by the police. I am," he argued. Maybe she couldn't understand why he was so negative about his life sometimes, but he couldn't understand how she could be so positive all the time. He did try to cut himself some slack, but reality was reality.

"Hum," She tapped her finger to her chin, "but what about Arius?"

He blushed as he remembered their hand squeeze. Arius had definitely changed or maybe he had always been that way and was being more open to Cypur now.

"We're still friends." His face felt hot, and his hands were sweating. "And maybe I still have a chance."

Wescherlie crinkled her nose at him, grinning. "You'd make a cute couple, you know. He's quite a gentleman. Even when you were knocked out, he wasn't just looking after you. He looked after me, too." She took his hand again and gave a nod. "I approve of your relationship and as a friend, I'll get you guys together whatever way I can."

Cypur didn't know what that would entail, but he had a feeling that with Wescherlie on his side, anything could be possible. Was this what having a friend was like? They would be on your side and help you when you needed. His chest filled with gratitude, swelling like a balloon. And he never would have ever imagined that his true friend would be a Rauvuren!

Not me in the beginning of this year, at least. He smiled to himself and looked out the window, noticing how dark it had become. He could almost see his reflection now.

"By the way," Wescherlie broke the silence, "in a Rauvuren's native tongue, there's a word that means 'special friend'. These friends are more than just friends. They're the special friends. The best of friends. I consider you my félagi verskur. Just to put it in perspective, you're my first félagi verskur."

Félagi verskur. Cypur smiled and tried it on his tongue. It almost sounded like a runic spell. "And I consider you my first friend and first félagi verskur, too."

She smiled and he noticed a tint of pink to her cheeks. "Aw, a good way to end the day, don't you think? How sweet."

"Mm," he agreed. "But I could really do with a bath though, before bed."

"Me, too. Look, a lady should take a bath at least twice a week. Least. Pruning feathers isn't the same as washing up my humanoid body here. There's places you don't have like, well, toes and fingers and stuff. All those frustrating body crevices you don't have when you've got feathers."

Cypur started to imagine a raven with toes and shuddered. It was not something he wished to meet.

"What's going on in your mind, Narsy?"

"A raven with toes."

She smacked her lips and scrunched up her face in disgust. "Ooh, now that's a sight I don't want to see. List of weird things I've seen in my lifetime? Oh, starlights and double moons, stone the Rauvuren, I've seen a whole bunch. It'd take all night to tell you."

Cypur checked the time. "The night is young, as Humans say. How many species are there, anyway?" That was one bit of information absent in whatever book he read up about them.

Wescherlie counted on her fingers. "Cherrin? Korpy? Rossross? I don't know, they have so many slang words for their sub-species, it's impossible to keep track of how many are official. I once heard there were fifty, but when Humans first came there were only ten. Mind blown, pow!" She stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes.

And Sorcerers like me, Human-born, whatever do we have in our ancestry? Sometimes Cypur wondered about the Sorcerers who were Humans but not Human-born. Way back when, over five-hundred years ago, some Humans discovered they could access the magick in the air. They became some of the first Sorcerers. Rumors had it, the first Sorcerer was still alive somewhere as the oldest living Sorcerer.

He looked at Wescherlie. Rauvuren were kind of like Sorcerers, but they were Halfhumans. Halfhumans had to first exist for Rauvuren to even come about. As much as history textbooks said, Rauvuren were Sorcerers before any Halfhumans became Sorcerers. If that was the case, Wescherlie's family would go way back. He could only hope that some of those were still alive.

"Zarkentauf would have the answers for us," he thought out loud.

"Zarkizok," Wescherlie piped up, "Daero's all secretive, you know? I think he should just tell us what's going on. Reminds me of my uncle who thought being wise meant being annoyingly mysterious. Daero said he knew how to get to Zarkizok but wouldn't tell me anything more. He grinned. Grinned!" She groaned. "How's that supposed to help?"

Cypur shrugged. Many Sorcerers did that on purpose. It was their aesthetics to be mysterious to seem like they were more than they let on. Not telling information was one and masking powers was another. Daero was definitely doing the latter purposefully because if you were a Sorcerer, you could tell if another is masking their powers. Especially if you shook hands or paws with them.

Outside was now so dark that the window was a perfect mirror of him sitting beside Wescherlie. He saw her turn to look at him and then to the window. She grinned, pointing to his hair where a tuft stuck up straight on top.

"Damn, it's like I've been electrocuted." He moved to fix it when she stopped him and bent the tip of the tuft, so it looked like antenna.

"Beep boop, find the signal," she said with a straight face. Cypur tried to contain it, but he couldn't. They both broke out laughing at the same time.

"You silly!" he said. He noticed her feet were bare and recalled how she said she didn't have a tickle spot. It was worth a try. The moment his fingers grazed, she shrieked and hid her feet under the blankets.

"Not fair. Not fair!" She laughed. "I'm injured and vulnerable. You can't tickle a Rauvuren in a sling."

Cypur reached again and she began to giggle although he hadn't even touched her yet. "You liar. No tickle spot, huh?" He smirked and pretended to retreat. Once her guard was down, he striked again and she was in a fit of giggles, tears in her eyes, laughing so hard although he barely touched her.

"No, stop, please! I surrender! I lied!" She hollered and laughed. Seeing her laugh made him laugh. His stomach hurt and he could barely form words. By the time Kirlan came to fetch him, they were gasping for breath.

"Are Kathula ticklish?" he asked, feeling light and giddy. He'd won. He didn't know what, but it was nice to know her tickle spot.

Kirlan didn't say anything until they arrived at Cypur's room. "The ribs, but don't you try," he said and left.

Cypur climbed in bed and wondered what tomorrow would bring. He had a best friend for life and whatever happened, he knew they would have each other.

* * *

In the middle of the night, he woke with a start. Shadows hovered in the corners of his room. Wind rattled the glass windows. Heart beating, he stared at the ceiling. In his dream, he was back in Rauvuren Trude. What was different were the many stone houses lining the way up to the castle, no longer in ruins. Rauvurens' purple eyes watched him.

At once, he was in third person, watching a man with long golden hair approaching a giant iron gate. In his arms was a parcel wrapped in cloth. When the blanket fell away a Rauvuren child with Wescherlie's head glared into his eyes.

"Murderer," she whispered, and that was when he woke. Her anger seared his chest as if it were true. Yet, it was only a nightmare and probably a product of his fear of what the future would bring. 

He tried to go back to sleep, but the image gnawed on him all night. Not a wink of sleep would be had until four in the morning.