Lone Gold, Daring Purple ✓ | Sorcerers, framed, runaway

24.2: Hiding things from them

Cypur stared into the mirror. Raven black was the color much to Wescherlie's approval. But he couldn't get over not just the hair but the green eyes. He didn't think changing eye-color was necessary. Blue eyes weren't unusual, but Daero insisted to go all the way.

"Someone could still recognize you."

I'm a stranger to myself. Cypur touched his hair and combed his fingers through all the way down to his waist. It was the length his brother had it at and what most Sorcerers did. Feeling fake hair, an illusion so real that loose strands came when he yanked snarls.

"Falling in love with yourself?" the raven on his shoulder said.

"I've wished to fit in but now that I do, I don't like it." He turned away and head out the door. Cypur never hated the way he looked, but he wasn't particularly fond of himself either. Still, seeing himself with black hair was like his identify had been stripped away. Made him look sickly pale.

"Got everything?" Wescherlie shuffled her raven feet about.

"Except my dagger. I think I dropped it somewhere." He had searched all over for it but couldn't find it and neither Daero nor Kirlan had seen it. It had been infused with his magick by Arius. A treasure he didn't want to lose, but maybe it had fallen somewhere in Berlennia and was unretrievable. Anyone could find and use it, canceling out his magick and putting in their own.

At last, they came to a tunnel at the bottom of the hill. If he turned back around, there was Kirlan still standing there, seeing them off. Kathula in the villages nearby were glancing over their shoulders as if curious but didn't even smile. It was understandable they would be weary. It had barely been two years since discriminatory fear filled their lives.

"Ready?" Daero said and turned to the tunnel. The stone walls glowed blue—his primary choice of color magick. Wescherlie flew in after him and Cypur was about to follow when he heard his name.

"Wait!"

Down the hill a Kathula came stumbling. Her bushy azure tail fanned out behind. Puffy blue bangs bounced when she ran up to him. Her tongue hung out as she panted. In one paw she held his dagger.

Cypur furrowed his brows. What was she doing with his dagger? He approached her and she took a step forward, holding it out to him.

"Take better care of your weapons, Sorcerer," she said. Her Universal was almost as good as Daero's. "It was the dullest, sorriest dagger I had ever seen in my life."

He took the dagger from her, hand grazing against soft fur unlike Daero's coarse fur. The blade was sharpened and shined. The handle was polished with oil, slick as if brand new. The carving of his name, where he remembered the gold had chipped off leaving it dull, had all been meticulously repainted in true craftsmanship.

Did she do this? Those big hands? Or paws? Cypur traced his name and it glowed, answering to his touch.

"Thank you," he said and glanced up. She gave a small smile and turned away.

"Well, look what you have there!" Daero said with a grin when he returned to the tunnel. Cypur had a feeling Daero had a hand, or paw in it. Whoever that master craftsman was, Cypur hadn't even gotten her name.

When they emerged from the tunnel, it was late evening in the Fourth Ring. They were in an alley, darkened in building shadows, obscured in cold fog. Wintertine was nearly upon them. Cypur hugged himself in the chill as Wescherlie fluffed her feathers.

"Didn't tell me it would be Wintertine when he got out," she hissed in his ear.

Daero rested a paw on his shoulder. "Be careful," he whispered. "And remember, I'm here when it's time."