Take A Thief

donned his shirt and trews — wrinkled and a little damp, but they'd have to do. They both ate, he cleaned the things he'd used and shut the Way Station up again. He'd been stiff and sore when he woke up, but he knew from experience that only moving around would make that kind of soreness go away. Besides, at the moment, he couldn't wait to get back to the city where he belonged. Whatever people saw in “the country” was invisible to him. The silence alone would drive him crazy in a day.

There was just one problem, of course — and that was that he wasn't going home, he was going to this Collegium place. As he mounted Cymry's well-worn saddle — with a great deal more decorum this time — he shook his head slightly. “I still think there's gonna be trouble,” he predicted glumly.

:Skif, there will always be trouble where you are,: she replied mischievously. :We'll just have to try to keep it from getting out of hand!:

Without a backward glance, she started up the forest trail, going in a few paces from a walk to a trot to an easy lope. It was very strange, riding her, now that he knew what she was. For one thing, she wasn't a horse — he didn't have control over her, and that was the way it was supposed to be, not an accident. But as they moved out of the woods and onto roads that had a bit of morning traffic, he began to notice something else.

Now that they weren't charging down the road in a manner threatening to life and limb, people paid attention to Cymry, they clearly knew what she was, and they looked at her, and by extension her rider, with respect.

Or at least they did until they saw his black eye.

But even then, they looked at him with respect only leavened with sympathy. And since they weren't galloping at a headlong pace, but rather moving in and out of the traffic at a respectable, but easy trot, some people actually began to call greetings to him and her.

“New-Chosen, aye, lad?” said a farmer, perched so high on the seat of his wagon that he was eye-to-eye with Skif. And without waiting for an answer, added, “Here, catch!” and tossed him a ripe pear.

Startled, he caught it neatly, and the second one that the same man tossed to him, before Cymry found another opening in the traffic and moved smoothly ahead.

:If you'd cut that up into quarters, I'd like some.:

He was only too pleased to oblige, since he had the feeling that was what the farmer intended anyway. The little eating knife he always kept in his belt was accessible enough, and since he didn't have to use the reins, he didn't have to try and cut the pears up one-handed. She reached around and took each quarter daintily from his hand as he leaned over her neck to hand it to her.

Everywhere he looked, he met smiles and nods. It was a remarkable sensation, not only to be noticed, but to elicit that reaction in total strangers.

He did feel rather — naked, though. He wasn't at all comfortable with all of this noticing.

:Don't worry. You'll blend in once you're in your Grays. You'll be just another Trainee.:

He was getting used to her talking in his head — Mindspeech, she called it — and he was starting to get vague pictures and other associations along with the words. When she talked about being “in his Grays,” he knew at once that what she meant was the uniform of the Heraldic Trainees, modeled after the Heralds' own uniforms, but gray in color.

:That's so people don't expect you to know what you're doing yet,: she told him, looking back over her shoulder at him with one eye. :And by the way, you don't have to actually talk to me for me to hear and understand you.:

So she knew what he was thinking. That wasn't exactly a comforting thought. A man liked to have a little privacy —

:And when you're a man, I'll give it to you.:

“Hey!” he said, staring at her ears indignantly, and garnering the curious glances of a couple driving a donkey cart next to him.

:Oh, don't be so oversensitive! I won't eavesdrop! You'll just have to learn not to “shout” all your thoughts.:

Great, now he would have to watch, not only what he did and said, but what he thought… This Herald business was getting more unpleasant all the time.

:It's not like that, Skif,: she said coaxingly. :Really it isn't. I was just teasing you.:

He found a smile starting, no matter how he tried to fight it down. How could he possibly stay angry with her? How could he even get angry with her? And maybe that was the point.