"She didn't bring me any water," Sarraya grumbled.

"Considering she can't see you, I'd be surprised if she did," Tarrin replied under his breath. "What have you been doing?"

"Watching you eat like a horse isn't very entertaining, so I took a nap," she replied. "Feel better now?"

"A world better," he replied with a contented sigh. "I can feel it working already."

"Just take it easy for a while, and give your body a chance to mend," she told him. "We can leave when the storm hits, so they can't follow us."

"I thought the same thing myself," he agreed with her. "And believe me, the last thing I want to do at the moment is move again."

"That's because you stuffed your face like a pig."

"Are you feeling alright, good master?" the serving girl who had waited on him asked as she passed. "You were talking to me?"

"No, young one. I was talking to my other half. It's being petulant at the moment."

"I am not!" she said loudly, stamping her tiny foot on the top of the table.

The girl looked genuinely baffled. She heard the voice, but her eyes couldn't find its source. She looked around on the table, knowing it came from that direction, but there was nothing there.

"Don't leave the girl confused, my rash friend," Tarrin said with a mysterious smile. "If they've seen me, seeing you won't make a whit of difference, and you'll give the girl something to tell her grandchildren."

In the blink of an eye, Sarraya returned to visibility, standing on the table near the pile of bones. She had a pouty look on her face, and her eyes were a bit sulky as she glared up at him. "There, are you happy now?" she demanded.

The woman stared in shock. "Wh-What is it?" she asked in wonder.

"She's a Faerie. Sarraya, introduce yourself to the girl."

"I thought Faeries were just made up," the girl said in awe, looking down at the exceedingly tiny, blue-skinned being.

"I am not made up!" Sarraya said defensively.

"Excuse her. This mythical being has a little bit of an attitude," Tarrin said lightly, smiling down at his diminutive companion.

"Tarrin!" Sarraya snapped, but the girl just laughed.

"Well, pardon me for staring, good mistress. I've just never seen anyone quite like you before," she announced.

"You think on your feet, young one."

"I'm a barmaid, good master. We have to think on our feet, or we end up in some drunken rancher's lap," she said with an impish smile. "And it's not like we never see non-humans here. There's a tribe of Giants that live in the mountains to the north. They come down here to trade sometimes, and they're allowed into the city. They're very friendly and gentle."

"Giants tend to be," Tarrin told her. He'd seen them a few times himself, for they came down from the Clouddancer Mountains four times in his life to trade in Aldreth. They were thirty spans tall, but aside from that and wide-browed heads with heavy features and a racial tendency to be stocky and barrel-chested, they looked completely human. Very gentle beings, always careful where they put their feet.

"Do you need anything else, good master? More water? Maybe wine?"

"I'm fine, thank you," he told her.

She bowed her head in a little bob, then scurried away.

Cute girl. A very smart young lady. If he were human and three spans shorter, he may be interested in her.

Tarrin and Sarraya passed the time in contemplative silence, listening to the other patrons talk or argue or carouse. They had lost most of their interest in Tarrin, though Sarraya's sudden appearance had caused another round of staring. But with such a unique person already there, her appearance wasn't so earth-shattering as it would have been if she were alone. Tarrin let himself drift a bit in his thoughts as he settled his meal, let it do its work, feeling strangely secure considering he wasn't with his sisters or friends, that he was surrounded by strangers. It was quiet time, devoid of worries or fears, absent of the loneliness he'd felt in cat form, and though he missed his sisters and friends, just a little part of him felt as if their spirits were with him at that moment.

But time passes, as time inexorably does. It reminded him of its passing with a keening howl from outside. He looked up to see the barmaids closing the shutters, locking them down so the inn could ride out the approaching sandstorm. It was evening now, close to sunset, and the massive sandstorm he'd seen earlier had finally managed to reach them.

As nice a time as he had had in the seedy inn, it was time to go.

"Sarraya," he said quietly, squeezing out from under the table and standing beside it. He shook the cloak a bit, then decided to simply take it off so he could put the sword back in its place.

"You feel ready?"

"Feel ready or not, it's time to go," he told her. "We have a long way to go."

"That we do," she agreed as he took off the cloak. The patrons stared at him without the cloak, at his inhuman height, at his sleek frame garbed by dirty, torn clothing. Some of them saw the manacles on his wrists, partially hidden under the new fetlocks that had grown up under and around them. He paid them little mind as he laid the cloak on the table by the plate of bones, then reached down and picked up the sword.

He was in the act of sliding it back on under the backpack when the shutters holding the doorway opened with a bang, and the interior door opened quickly, bringing a blast of sand-filled wind into the inn.

"Durn fools!" someone shouted. "Shut the damned doors before we need a shovel to get out!"

"It's in here somewhere," a voice called urgently.

Tarrin stood up straight, his heart skipping a beat, then flowing over with a calmness. Even here, in his moment of peace, they come to harass him, to disturb him. He turned to see three men standing in the doorway as the shutters banged behind them, sand blowing in around them. Two men in black robes, and one dressed in a chain hauburk and leather leggings, a sword strapped to his side. All three looked like Arakites; they had to be locals. The warrior's equipment was a bit beaten up, making him more likely a mercenary or freelancer than part of an army. The tallest of the three was holding up a strange crystal, which was glowing with a bright amber radiance. It reminded him of the amulets that Phandebrass made, one of which he still had.

All three fixed their eyes on him, in the act of resting his sword in its place on his back, and the mercenary man took a step back. "If that's him, you don't have enough money in the world to make me fight him," the man declared immediately.

"Turn around and leave," Tarrin said in a deadly voice. "I'm going to pick up the rest of my things. If you're still there when I reach the door, I'll kill you."

"Jerlos, you're nuts!" the shorter robed man said as the taller one took a step forward. "There's no way we can take the book from that!"

"But he must have the book, Sashas!" the taller man said plaintively. "Imagine what we could learn from it!"

"It's not worth my head, you fool!" the shorter man snapped. "Can't you feel it? Are you that blind?"

"What are you talking about?"

"He's a Sorcerer, you idiot!" the shorter man said hotly. "A powerful Sorcerer! He could turn all three of us inside out without so much as twitching a finger!"

That made Tarrin's eyebrow raise. Wizards couldn't feel things like that. Only Sorcerers-

– -of course. He could feel it now. The shorter one wasn't a Wizard, he was a Sorcerer. Not one of the katzh-dashi or even trained by them. He was self-taught, and judging from what he could feel from the man, he wasn't that shabby. He had considerable natural potential, it only came down to how well he had managed to teach himself as to how powerful he was.

"But he has the book!" the taller one whined.