"Oh my goodness... What am I gonna do..."

Kneeling down, he holds his head and despairs, feeling the spring breeze roll over his shoulders and ripple along the blades of grass like waves. Spring on the Sunset Plains is a beautiful sight, but Cashmere has no time for beauty; he is utterly preoccupied with the true catastrophe before him. Feeling the scratchy wood of a post on his back, he looks at the field in front of him to see a herd of spottled cows -- a herd of spottled cows that is distinctly free of any pen, cage or other form of constraint, such as the pen whose gate stand very open beside him. It doesn't take the world's greatest detective to infer what happened here, and Cashmere is devastated.

It was supposed to be easy. In fact, it wasn't supposed to be longer than thirty minutes. But everything went tremendously wrong, and now he suffers the consequences. He isn't dressed as his usual self; he still wears the oversized witch-cap, of course (in fact, it's somewhat more practical in this weather). But in place of the normal garb, he wears the uniform befitting of his task: the smallest set of suspenders the kind farmer could find for him.

He doesn't feel like a farmer now, however. He feels rather like a failure.

"Miss Cows? Miss Cows, can you please go back in the pen? The farmer's gonna be really mad..."

Flight was a relatively new feeling for her, and it surprised her how quickly she got used to it. Even more, how quickly she came to actually like it. The feeling of the warm breeze through her feathers was a new one, and while she still had a lot to learn, she watched Mischief a whole lot more these days to try and understand how he navigated the currents of wind, since he didn't have the two cooperative braincells to teach her.

For someone who had such strong, deep roots, it was a wildly different feeling.

The two ravens soared high above, cawing to each other as they seemed to be dancing through the warm, spring breeze. She wasn't even quite sure where the wind was taking them, until another sight grabbed her attention: a green, grass field that stretched beneath them, peppered by large shadows that, on her account, looked like they shouldn't be there. A great variety of animals were spreaded along the fields, happily walking away from their pen, where.......

Oh, there was someone there.

Kamille closed her wings and started her descent, gliding about the field softly before landing on a wooden pole that had once been, perhaps, the gate of the pen. Mischief followed her, landing on the pole to the other side.

It was a child. Why was he so distressed? He didn't look like he belonged there - certainly he wasn't dressed like a farmer.

"CAW! What's wrong?"

Not a soul in sight. Not a soul for a mile, most likely; the farmer had gone on some little trip to Thunderhoof, leaving Cashmere alone with the catastrophe that he's allowed to happen.

"Oh no..." The despair comes in waves of consolation and re-re-realization.

But then, something odd happens: a pair of black birds, each great and regal, lands on the posts of the fence beside him. Ravens. He has an unfortunate relationship with ravens. On one hand, he adores them and wishes he could have one as a pet, because they're known to be kept as witches' familiars; on the other hand, he's never met a raven who wasn't either offended or wholly startled by Cashmere's doting, and that didn't either fly away or peck at his hair. Diviners say that they can be used as omens, if you possess the knowledge to interpret them. But what do they mean here? Are they a portend of a blessing, or more misfortune?

But then, something even odder happens. Because, as it turns out, these particular ravens are not difficult to understand at all. In fact, this one speaks to him! In Common! He's startled at the caw, but hardly knows what to think as words -- real words -- pour from the raven's mouth! With a wide eye, he stares back at this utterly eloquent bird; could it be some sort of mimicry? He's heard that ravens can mimic a person's speech...

Well, he may as well find out.

"U-Umm!" With a shaky, uncertain hand, he points out to the field of forlorn cattle. "I messed up... Those cows are supposed to be in this pen, but I accidentally let them out. I just wanted to know how the latch worked, but then it opened and they just walked out and I couldn't do anything..."

He holds his knees to his chest, dejected.

"Idunno what to do... The farmer's gonna be really mad."

The raven that spoke up watched the child with intent, her deep blue eyes measuring him up and down. This child needs a hug, it was the first thing that came to mind. Then, as if it was secondary, she realized that the great shadow that fell on his shoulders were actually because of a giant hat. A giant, witch's hat. She flapped her wings in excitement, hoping that the child wouldn't be startled by what was to come next.

Jumping from the post she'd been perched on, a flurry of black feathers take the raven's small figure, lining the back of a long, black cloak. And the cloak was now upon the shoulders - not of a raven - but of a raven-haired woman, with deep blue eyes just like the bird that greeted him. The other bird started a small happy dance, bouncing up and down.

Clawed hands reached out to the child, hoping to help him up. Despite the ominous looks, the smile of the woman was warm, and she spoke with him with extra gentleness in her voice.

"And why you're here all alone? What's your name?"

Her first observation that the animals where not supposed to be there seemed right. Who lets a small child taking care of farm animals? They better not blame it on him...

She knelt down before him, so their eyes would be at the same level.

"Well... Now that they are out, they are not gonna get back on their own, right? How long have you been here? Are you the farmer's son?"

Cashmere jumps and turns his attention back to the raven as he hears a-fluttering of its feathers. When he's heard that in the past, it's usually meant that he offended the raven somehow, like how a cat's tail starts to swish when they're angry (very unlike when a dog's tail swishes -- a fact that Cashmere learned the hard way). On instinct, he lets out a panicked "I'm sorry!"

His fright only grows as the raven descends from its perch, landing with a graceful three-step. But what happens next fills Cashmere not with fright, but with absolute awe, as the raven's form shifts and grows, wider and taller and... way prettier, too! Feathers fall around the form of what was *once* a raven, but is now a woman dressed in black, whose hair is black and whose countenance is as regal as a countess's. Cashmere is left awestruck, even moreso as the raven-woman speaks to him in a voice like velvet. It was never a raven at all! She kneels down, and can see fully his single, widened eye of golden iris, staring back at her. He's heard stories that witches keep ravens as familiars -- but this isn't a raven, *or* a familiar.

"You're a witch!" he suddenly exclaims, after a silence. "Oh my goodness, u-umm-...!"

He stands to his feet and tries to regain any semblance of bearing, scrambling about. How can he look presentable? How can he impress this real, actual witch? She even has claws, like Miss Calyptra did! Eventually (and perhaps sillily), Cashmere settles on a militant stance, straightening his posture like a soldier awaiting command.

"N-N-No ma'am! Th-The farmer just had to go somewhere, a-and he left me in charge! Ma'am!" His demeanour starts to crumble as he realizes that there's no hope of seeming presentable. After all, he already told her just how badly he'd messed up. "I-I... My name's Cashmere. I've just been here a few minutes."

With his introduction complete, he turns back to the corvid lady before him, re-enraptured by her elegant bearing.

"S-Sorry." he says, not really knowing why. "Who're you?! You're a witch, right? Witches are amazing! And you can turn into birds and that's so cool! How'd you do that? Can you show me??"

It doesn't take the world's greatest detective to figure out that he's practically forgotten about the cows.

The child's apologies just added to the thought that he didn't belong there. The little one stirred a feeling in her heart she often had when speaking to children - and sometimes to Fish as well - and that was an urge to hug and protect them from any harm, shield them from everything bad that could befall them.

Her smile lights up when Cashmere stands up and adopts a supposedly rigid and regal posture, keeping herself from chuckling. It was endearing how he tried to look all grown up and tough before her, even if still stammering and tripping over his own words.

It came as a surprise - though it shouldn't have - that Cashmere was enchanted by realizing she was a witch. The hat should have been hint enough, so she offered him the most warm and gentle smile she could, still meeting him eye to eye as they talked.

"Nice to meet you, Cashmere. I'm Kamille."

"CAWWW! I am Mischief!"

"At least you weren't here alone for long... Where are your parents?"

Mischief interjected quickly, but the Witch didn't even blink at that, so used to it as she was. She held back from saying it may not have been the wisest idea for the farmer to let a young child in charge of farm animals, but Cashmere's excitement soon over her as well, and this time she couldn't help but softly chuckle.

"............Yes, I am a Witch. What about you? Are you a witch too? You look like one, you got the hat, the clothes.... You certainly look like one. Perhaps I could show you something, but..."

The woman looked around once again. It wasn't the wisest to go around like that making promises to teach anyone that asked her, but it didn't hurt to show a thing or two to such a sweet looking child, right? What could possibly go wrong?

She took a step closer, gently brushing the dirt and grass off of his clothes, at the same time straightening him up, lining up buttons and creases. Lastly, she brushed off the grass of his hat, softly adjusting it on his head. Only then she noticed he had a patch of bandages covering one eye, while the other, golden one looked up to her in excitement.

This was a curious child....

Kamille gestured to the field.

"But first we'd need to take care of your duties, don't you think? Do you have any ideas of how to do this? I got some, if you wouldn't mind..."

Kamille... Kamille the Witch! The name sounds a little familiar, but he can't place it...

Oh well! Either way, Cashmere can hardly believe that he was lucky enough to meet a witch on a day like this! Just when everything seemed so gloomy and miserable, he just so happened to stumble across one of his very heroes -- or, he guesses that it's more like she stumbled across him.

He's startled again by the sound of a CAW, but this time from the other raven. He quickly recovers, but it does make him wonder why this other witch is still in raven form? Mischief is a cool name...

At the sound of Kamille's voice, Cashmere snaps back to attention.

"Oh, umm... I wanna be, when I grow up. I'm not very good at it, though..."

And then comes a promise -- a promise at which Cashmere's one eye gleams like shard of glass under the sun. She's going to show him magic?! There are few things that Cashmere could ever be more excited to hear.

She kneels again, to straighten his outfit and brush away the detritus, and he can't help but reassert that stiff, militant posture as she does so. He even holds his breath, though he doesn't realize it until it becomes truly difficult (and by then, he's unwilling to back down). She's going to show him magic -- she's going to show him magic, and he can hardly contain his excitement!

"But first we'd need to take care of your duties, don't you think? Do you have any ideas of how to do this? I got some, if you wouldn't mind..."

"O-Oh, right..." If Cashmere were to be completely honest, he'd say that he'd forgotten about the cows. And if he were to continue being completely honest, he'd say that he wished she hadn't reminded him. Much of his excitement fades, to be replaced by that all-too-familiar anxiety. "I don't know... I have a little bit of magic, but..."

With a level of meekness, he draws a little wand and waves it. "Belec." At the word and the gesture, a little mote of starlight^[1] appears in front of the wand, and lingers there. It's... well, it's magic, but it's about the most rudimentary form of magic that can be learned or taught.

"It isn't very good..." Shoulders still slumped, he looks up to her with a bit of hope in his eye. "Do you have any magic that could help?"

---

1. Light

"...I'm not very good at it, though..."

The statement breaks her heart, as it makes it clear that Cashmere is not confident in his abilities. It would explain his fidgeting, his nervousness and stammering. It was compelling to just take him under her wing without any thought, but she didn't know a thing about the child. Easy, girl, don't get it over your head.....

Not yet.

Cashmere was clearly a bit less enthusiastic about taking care of his duties first, but she assumed she had to set a good example for him, right? That's what adults did, right? Do what I tell you, not what I do... Because if sweet Cashmere was to do what she did when she was younger, her duties were not among her list of priorities....

Then, he decided to show her a bit of his magic. It was clearly a spell from the Light domain, and the smile she flashed him was one that lighted up her eyes, a genuine smile of pride, dimples and all.

"That is a great spell, Cashmere, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Every spell has its utility, its purpose. But the way you use it is the most important thing. If you are creative enough, even the simplest of spells can do so much more than they are intended to."

The Witch scratched her chin, thinking for a moment if she could somehow use Cashmere's spell in some way to make a point.

"I got an idea of how to make them come back... I would need you to help me, though. Could you stay here and keep the gate open until they are all in? I'll need to call a couple of friends for this, if you don't mind..."

Kamille searched her satchel, taking out what looked like two pieces of chess, the two white rooks, to be precise. She showed Cashmere the pieces, and even if he didn't have much experience, he would feel there was something different about them.

"These are my two friends, Miss Fortune and Sir Prize. They are asleep now, but when I need them, they wake up. Watch."

The Witch then stood up, whispering a few words of power into the pieces. The magic was not evident right away, but Cashmere could feel it stirring in the chess pieces. When she tossed the rooks forward, what landed on the ground were not small chess pieces anymore: with a loud rumbling sound, the ground shook as the pieces took the size of large gargoyles made entirely of stone, maybe at least six foot tall. They towered over both of them, but their expressions were blank, as if waiting for orders.

"Miss Fortune, Sir Prize. Please help us herd these animals back to the pen, will you? Don't hurt them."

Without even an acknowledgment that they heard it, the two massive gargoyles went on their happy way to herd the animals back to the pen... whatever it meant. Truth be said, they kinda looked happy - if a gargoyle ever looked happy - to walk among the animals scaring them, like dogs chasing pidgeons. Except every step they took made the ground shake.

The animals looked immediately wary and afraid of the gargoyles, keeping a safe distance from them. With a little of patience and time, the gargoyles would probably figure out how to do it... Or the cows would willingly go back home to run from them.

'So much more than they are intended to...'

The little witch looks up to Kamille, that one golden iris as wide and full as the moon. It's strange; it isn't as if the idea had never occurred to him, of using spells in creative ways. There've been times when he's used Suspend Object to safely handle a heated pot, and he sometimes uses Desert Blessing to conjure a glaive when he needs to reach something on a high shelf. It isn't a new concept. But hearing those words come from the lips of a witch -- a real witch... The eloquence is somehow enlightening. They bounce sillily in his mind, but always stay cohesive, unlike the thoughts of before. All of a sudden, the little lamplight doesn't seem so shameful... Though perhaps that's only because he's distracted.

But he's jolted from his consideration as Kamille speaks up again

"I got an idea of how to make them come back... I would need you to help me, though. Could you stay here and keep the gate open until they are all in? I'll need to call a couple of friends for this, if you don't mind..."

'Call a couple of friend'...? These words don't bounce, nor do they stick together. They're a strange little implication that has the little witch tilting his little head. Is she talking about some sort of magic? Whatever it means, it's got Cashmere utterly intrigued, so much so that he stands on his tip-toes in an attempt to see into the satchel that Kamille rifles through (and subsequently retreats when he realizes the rudeness in doing so). But his quizzicality doesn't subside and his mind rushes with guesses. 'Maybe she's gonna pull out her wand and cast a summoning spell? No, no, nobody keeps their wand in a satchel! Maybe she's looking for some components for a ritual? Goodness, she probably knows so many spells! I bet she could-'

The prelude of a daydream is interrupted as the witch produces two tiny figurines. The fantasy popped like a bubble, he's quickly drawn toward these miniatures that resemble pieces from that game that Cashmere doesn't know the name of (something about winning cheese?), studying them with all the youthful curiosity with which a young child might read a picture-book. Even just standing next to them, he can feel the subtle glow of mana. Misfortune and Surprise... what funny names! Cashmere can't help but wonder if these were always their names, or if Kamille named them -- or maybe she created them, and both are true! Making magic items... the possibilities are endlessly wonderful and wonderfully endless.

But, that said... even if they were to wake up, what could these tiny figurines do to herd an entire, well, herd of cows?

Kamille rises, and Cashmere feels his heart skip a beat as he realizes that he's about to find out. She holds the pieces before her, and arcane whispers blow from between her dark-painted lips. And even that is enough to impress Cashmere: the eloquence, the confidence with which she utters those arcane phonemes is something that he's come to revere after having botched many spells by using clumsy mispronunciations. Already, his face is alight with awe. But then his heart quickens as he feels mana bending in the air around those little pieces! Something's happening; he can feel it! Confusion pangs in his mind as Kamille rears back and hurls the pieces forward, but it doesn't last long. The pieces don't land with the tiny thumps that Cashmere instinctually expected, but with a tremendous trembling that he can even feel beneath his feet! He should be startled, but he isn't; his eye is wide in awe, filled with dreamlike inspiration as he looks upon a pair of what had only been tiny figurines just a moment ago. They have transformed, grown, broadened and animated into...

"Gargoyles!" he excitedly exclaims with a smile and a joyous hop. He doesn't care that they're dour-faced and menacing; they're an amazing spectacle of magic and craftsmanship alike, and someone looking at him would swear that his eye is literally glimmering with wonderment!

...He does get a little concerned when they start traipsing about and terrorizing the cattle, though. Their faces might be as stony as they're make, but Cashmere can't shake the feeling that they're enjoying the animals' fear as they chase them about. All that panicked mooing is... well, it's a little funny, but it's also makes Cashmere feel a little bad. 'Why're they chasing the cows, anyway...?'

Then, realization comes to Cashmere with an "Oh!" Remembering his role in this endeavour, he looks to the gate where the lamplight now hovers like a helpful little beacon, and quickly rushes to open it fully. Its bottom drags uglily against the dirt and Cashmere worries he may've gotten a splinter, but he dutifully holds it open. In fact, he holds it *so* open that he practically traps himself between the gate and the fence, but he holds it there nonetheless. It's a simple thing, but it's a mission from a real witch, and that isn't something he'll take lightly!

Kamille chuckles softly as she sees little Cashmere's commitment to the task she gave him. The process takes a while, as it's not a task the gargoyle are used to doing - if they had their way, they would fling the cows back into the pen, unceremoniously. But their Mistress didn't want them injured, so the task took every fiber of finesse the giant, stony gargoyles didn't have. Eventually, the cows started to go back to their pen, mainly because it looked like the one safe place from the stone monsters.

As the cows started to head back to the pen, Kamille went over to the little Witch, placing him seated on top of the fence, where he could still hold the gate open.

"So... Where are you from, sweetie? Do you have a Master? If you want to be a Witch someday, I assume someone is tutoring you..."

Kamille had already noticed he didn't answer her about his parents. She would assume the worst - but even so, she felt she couldn't just leave him there to his own devices. Taking a quick look around was enough to understand what could happen. This child should be under someone's wings, learning and absorbing all he could, especially if he was dead set on being a witch. Then again, she wondered it wasn't that easy to find someone willing to teach him.

"And how on earth did you arrive here alone? If the farmers are not your pa- HEY! BE GENTLE WITH HER!"

One of the more rebellious cow seemed to be refusing to go back to the pen, which prompted Miss Fortune to simply grab it as if it was a child carrying a big dog, baby style. The cow, of course, was terrified, but upon being told to be gentle, the gargoyle... well, did her best. Miss Fortune still carried the absolutely shocked cow back to the pen, gently putting her on the ground once inside. The gargoyles were not the brightest, but they were certainly very obedient and strong and versatile. She whispered to Cashmere, thinking it was a good opportunity to reinforce what she had just told him about using spells creatively.

"Miss Fortune and Sir Prize are more used to fighting monsters and bandits, and they are very good at it. It's what they were made for, more likely. Guarding, hunting. But here, they are doing something different."

There's stood Cashmere, smushed of his own volition between the wooden gate and the wooden fence, clinging so adamantly to the gate (that is his burden) that his arms quiver and his cheeks puff. And he remains there dutifully as a herd a vexed cattle canter through the opened way. His labour under the sun, though not the hardest labour, is one that's he's focused on that he's started when he feels an adult hand at each of his sides, gently lifting him up. The little, painless sharpnesses of the witch's clawed gloves are his first hint, but he nonetheless opens his eyes to see that it's Ms. Kamille that's raising him up and setting him atop the fence. And when he realizes that, a gleeful smile crosses his face -- a face whose own glow is only supplemented by the sunshine -- and he giggles in graciousness.

Together, the witch-pair watch as the cattle file on through. Annoyed though the cattle are to be coerced in such a way, Cashmere retains a smile on his face; he's relaxed since Kamille placed him on the fence, perhaps subconsciously absorbing Kamille's own laxness toward the affair and, either way, oblivious to her hidden concerns. He merrily kicks his boots, bopping his head back and forth as if listening to an unheard song as he listens to Kamille, breaking the rhythm only to experience a fit of giddiness at being called 'sweetie' and to jolt in surprise (thankfully retaining his grip on the gate) as Kamille shouts a reprimand at Miss Fortune. His expression at the sight of the swaddled sow is an indecisive one; indeed, he can't decide whether to be impressed by the gargoyle's awesome strength or to err toward concern for the cow's wellbeing, so he ends up being somewhere between.

But, in the end, all's well: the cows (including the one that had to be physically placed) are all returned to the pen, having their original grievance at captivity being completely replaced by a grievance toward the sculpture duo's bugging. Similarly, Cashmere's own distraughtness from before has been utterly shunted by pride at solving the problem (even though it was him that caused it in the first place). Wiping away the sweat from his forehead, he's about to go about closing the gate when Kamille brings a whisper to his ear.

"Miss Fortune and Sir Prize are more used to fighting monsters and bandits, and they are very good at it. It's what they were made for, more likely. Guarding, hunting. But here, they are doing something different."

He giggles quietly, as if her words were a joke shared between juniors. Obviously, the real meaning of her words don't quite register with him, but it's a theme that'll hopefully be reinforced in time.

At last, he hops to the ground and, with both hands, pushes the gate closed. As the latch shuts, he hops back with excitement and pride for a job done, and holds his witch-hat in place as he looks up to Kamille, smiles, and then looks to the rocky duo that assisted them so diligently (if capriciously).

"I bet they could take on a whole gang of bandits!" he announces in amazement. "I've seen gargoyles up on the roof of the Arcane Academy before, but I've never seen them come to life! They're really amazing! Can I-..." He interrupts himself and looks back to Kamille, now with a bit of anxiety speckling his face. "Do they like to be pet...?"

"Of course you can pet them. They won't mind. Sir Prize, come here for a second."

It didn't take much more than a few gentle words for the giant gargoyle to come back to them, the ground shaking with each of its steps and Cashmere shaking in excitement. Sir Prize would stay still, and if there was any glimpse of emotion as Cashmere pet him, it was confusion. And pet he does; raised up on his tiptoes, he pats as high on the gargoyle's head as he can reach, cawing with delight at the feeling of its awesome horns. As noted, he'd only ever seen gargoyles perched atop the parapets of the Arcane Academy; as such, he's certainly never been this close to one, let alone been allowed to touch them! Indeed, it is a fantastic and fantastically new experience for Cashmere, who seems utterly captivated, even in the perplexed face of the looming gargoyle.

Until Kamille speaks again.

"The Arcane Academy? Did you study there?"

He stops, and the silence is punctured by an ominous breeze that rolls through the field. Even as his palm rests on the gargoyle's forehead, all of the exuberance and joy has vanished, deflected like rainfall. He looks away, but not before a visible wince plays across his face.

"...I couldn't." His voice is as quiet as a mouse's, as if wishing not to be heard -- as if ashamed to be heard.

The shift in the child's mood was evident, and Kamille nearly regretted the question. She had to stop herself from voicing her opinion that the Academy was for losers, since it looked like it mattered for the little Witch. But without missing a beat, The Witch continued.

"You're still quite young, there's still time... I didn't go to the Academy myself. And if you can keep a secret, I'll tell you something..."

It wasn't actually a secret, though. Nevertheless, Cashmere faces her once more. His face holds the same sorrow from before, but also a little beam of wonderment -- hope.

"I was a failure to my former Master. My colleague was the goody two-shoes, and I was the failure. But... well, times change."

Carefully as to not hurt him, a black talon raised his chin.

"Sometimes our path is not what we thought it would be. Be open to other options."

There's a moment that no words, sounds or even expressions pass him. For just a moment, he finds himself utterly transfixed; the glimmer of sunlight almost forms a tunnel around Kamille -- or perhaps a halo, as unbefitting as it may seem to another for this dark-clad mistress. It's fitting to Cashmere who, for a moment, finds the worries ebbing away, so relaxed that it's as he were resting his head on that one taloned finger.

"What... What other options?" Confusion forms a thin veil over hope. "How did you become so... so amazing?"

The sunset upon them painted the horizon in scarlet and gold, bright hues of pink that would soon be replaced by violets and dark blue.

"How did you become so... so amazing?"

Kamille chuckled softly at the flattery, as it felt as sincere as it was innocent. It was the meeting of day and night, moon and sun. Darkly clad, with stars swirling in her deep, blue eyes, the Witch was clearly a creature of the night, embracing and warm in the same measure that her talons were sharp; seductive and enthralling as the mysterious forests she called home.

And she was met with a single, innocent, golden eye as bright as the sun itself. There was no more contrasting pair, even if they were both creatures out of the same prose - paintings by the same artist. Yet he was young and green, still untainted from the world's malice and poison. Light as bright as the deep shadows he might cast someday.

She wasn't sure where that thought came from.

But more importantly.... How on earth did he end up there without a guiding hand? Cashmere evaded her questioning about his parents, so she assumed a couple of things. Patting the gargoyle, the stone giant didn’t seem to have any reaction other than looking mildly confused.

"It's a long story, but... I had once a Master. And it's not that he was a bad Master, it was just....... That I wasn’t suited to his style."

It felt a little harder to try and explain that to a child. The more she tried to pursue the scholarly life - one she actually enjoyed - the more Chaos pushed her forward. Fate had decided she was to trust and control her instincts by sheer will, and not by markings on a paper and reading books.

"Learning from books brought me only part of the way, but it became evident that my own personal magic behaved differently. So I set out to learn alone, on my own terms. I had a solid foundation already, just wasn’t.... amazing."

As he himself put it. The gargoyle before him suddenly trembled, recoiling back to their position, as if it was a statue guarding the parapets of the Arcane Academy. And, right before their eyes, it shrunk back to the original size of a chess piece. Kamille picked it up and showed it to Cashmere.

"Some people learn from books, others from other people.... Then there are some that are better left off alone. Maybe you've been trying at the wrong angle."

With the wave of a hand, the other gargoyle, also reduced to a small chess piece, came flying up to her hand [1]. Despite their innocence - and should she say naivete? - Cashmere didn’t seem to shrink back before the stony giants. On the contrary, he looked fairly excited!

Perhaps they had more in common than she realized at first.... What other kind of monstrous being would have his golden eye sparkle like the sun?

A sudden thought crossed her mind, and she cheerfully smiled at the child.

"Tell me something, little Witch.... Have you ever rode on the back of a drake?"

Maybe she could take him back home afterwards... Wherever it was that was his home... Couldn’t be far, right? 

[1]Telekinesis

From the woman comes a little laughter. And for reasons that Cashmere isn't wise enough to know or even consider, the sound brings him closer to ease. It's strange: Kamille is dark in clothing, in hair, in eye and even in makeup; she's painted from a dark, gloomy palette that really shouldn't be as calming or, well, pretty to Cashmere as it is. It's so enrapturing to him that he hardly remembers the question by the time her answer comes.

"It's a long story, but... I had once a Master. And it's not that he was a bad Master, it was just....... That I wasn’t suited to his style. Learning from books brought me only part of the way, but it became evident that my own personal magic behaved differently. So I set out to learn alone, on my own terms. I had a solid foundation already, just wasn’t.... amazing."

She really learned everything on her own? No teacher, not even books? That's incredible!

Despite looking directly into her dark-blue eyes, he hears her words like a storybook, enthralled. In his own eye, that childlike wonder can be seen; not truly here, but peering into a distant world of fabulous, far-off wonder. Fabulous, far-off wonder...

He lets out a little, confused sound as Kamille takes her finger away from his chin; he really had been leaning on it quite a bit, in spirit if not in weight. But he does recover quickly. In that momentary lapse, his eye wanders outward over the field that's gradually come into an amber light in the time they've set about. And has he listens, he watches blades of grass swishing in the wind like reeds in the river. The Kingswood can be seen in the distance, over the fields; mysterious in ways tha are both frightful and mystical.

A witch's story... A real witch's story...

In a moment, he's roused from his stupor by a sound -- not threatening, but strange -- like a handful of pebbles skipping along the cobbled streets of Sol City. He turns and sees one of the gargoyles (if he were to admit, he doesn't quite know yet which is Miss Fortune or Sir Prize), shifting in unsteady movements with gravelish crackles. But it isn't going anywhere; as a matter of fact, it's gradually slowing and slouching until it's no more alive than any of those parapet watchers on Maazeric. And then, to as much of Cashmere's amazement as he held at the sight of their animation, both gargoyles jitter, freeze, and then magically reduce to the little chess-pieces that they were before.

"Woah..."

He takes a step toward them, ready to pick one up and marvel at just how now-ordinary it is. But that same piece suddenly zooms off the ground. He follows it with his eye, only to come face-to-face with Kamille once more as the piece flies into her open hand. She clutches it gracefully. Telekinesis: another marvellous spell that has Cashmere's eye wide!

"Some people learn from books, others from other people.... Then there are some that are better left off alone. Maybe you've been trying at the wrong angle."

The wrong angle?

...

But he's tried everything. If he hadn't, he wouldn't be so mournful. He did learn quickly when Cirice was his teacher; but even for the spells that he does manage to learn, whenever his talents are really tested...

There's that feeling again, rolling over like dark clouds and banishing that wonderment. And he doesn't hide it; he's too young and unwise to. His eye becomes downcast to the dirt beneath his tiny little boots. He remembers just how disparate they are.

But then the witch says something that leaves Cashmere utterly speechless.

"Tell me something, little Witch.... Have you ever rode on the back of a drake?"

Silence. Stunned, confused; mostly just unsureness of how to respond. He looks at her again, and his little face is as clueless as a cat looking at new furniture. His lips are ajar, and his eye is wide: blank silliness.

But then he picks up little clues in her face and tone. That knowing smile, the shimmer in her eyes... It takes a moment, but the truth pieces itself together in his mind. And as he realizes the true implication of her words, surreal joy lights his entire face into a smile.

It's only a distraction, but... He's distracted indeed.

The stunned silence spoke for itself, as it was clear the little Witch still didn't know the meaning of her words - but she hoped Cashmere would remain chewing on them for a time, until he could make sense of them on his own.

Meanwhile, it wouldn't hurt to give the child some excitement, right?

With a cheeky smile, Kamille stood up, raising her hands, taking the glint of joy in his eyes as a nod to what she was about to do. As the flow of mana shifted around her, Cashmere could almost see how the reality bended and twisted on itself in complicated ways as threads stretched and gave way to a rift between them and another place [1]. The rift let out a set of two eyes. Two ruby, glinting, big, slitted eyes, soon followed by a black smoke that shaped a gigantic body. Thousands upon thousands of black scales suddenly reflected the red setting sun, like a huge collection tiny mirrors. The scales covered a massive reptilian body, followed by spikes and twisted horns crowning a head so ferocious looking that made all the myths of dragons of old age suddenly feel small. After all, Kalaf was just a drake, and yet had such an imposing and domineering presence. He felt old - his eyes were heavy with the years behind them.

"Come, little Witch. I want you to meet Kalaf. Kalaf, we'll take this little Witch around before dropping him off at home."

Kamille allowed Cashmere to approach on his own terms, but stood close to watch. The giant head of the drake approached the ground, taking a good sniff of Cashmere, almost enough to make his huge hat stick to his nostrils.

"You gotta stop picking up hatchlings from the streets, little one. But at least this one smells to magic. Are you gonna keep this one?"

Kamille chuckled, hoping Cashmere couldn't understand the drake as she did [2].

"Let me help you hop on."

As delicately as she could, Kamille took Cashmere in her arms and hoisted him up the dragon back. The drake helped by kneeling close to the ground. As she positioned herself behind Cashmere, taking the time to safely and firmly strap them both to the saddle, she asked the child:

"Are you ready?"