As we neared the town gate, I assessed Winsor. "You know, you can't go out like that," I said.

Winsor regarded me skeptically for a moment before leaning to his side and peering toward the town gate. The guards stood there, chatting as it appeared no one was within sight to see them. Their torches flickered in the moonlit night, highlighting the enchanted perfection of the neatly arranged stones. Lights bounced around in the puddles left from the earlier rain.

"You think they'll stop me?" he asked. There was a confident edge to his voice, and unlike his usual wavering bravado, this wasn't put on. I shook my head, and glanced over my shoulder. I saw the main problem with Winsor remaining with his current appearance. Said problem had been with us ever since exiting the cabaret. He was lurking a block, nonchalantly chatting up a vendor of small leather strap necklaces with pretty stones suspended from them. His dark black uniform made him appear more as a recess between the other citizens rather than a person himself in the shadows of the night. I'm sure that's how he preferred it as a member of the BROS organization.

"It's not the town guard I'm worried about," I said. Without pointing, I gestured back at the BROS. Winsor leaned forward, following my gaze. He brushed a lock of hair out of his face.

"Yungtora? From the BROS?" Winsor asked. "Oh, you are mistaken. They are not my bodyguards; they just run trivial errands for my father. See, BROS stands for Blythe-Reglar Officers of Service."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "Maybe he's babysitting you from afar? It's not much of a rebellious excursion if your parents are still watching you."

Winsor's face was a mask of confusion. Him being a good soft-spoken younger child, he didn't understand the idea of being difficult to be difficult. I was beginning to understand why this kid was unpopular with his peers.

"We need to either find a way out that's not the front door or make a disguise."

"Oh. Why didn't you say that?" Winsor asked. He took a few steps to the right, until he stood halfway in an alley between two houses. Out of the line of sight of the BROS, he spoke to himself.

"Although my core shall be the same, to evade, I need a new frame." Winsor chanted. For a moment nothing happened, and then I noticed his hair was gradually lightening. It kinked up, going from the slack raven locks it originally had been to wavy tresses. The color on his skin bloomed, the emergence of a healthy sun kissed tint to his skin appearing even in the dim light of the flickering lamps. Freckles, like ants fleeing a mound under attack, flew across his face from the bridge.

The clothes around him shifted around his body. The dark hue drained

away, leaving a fashionable azure blue trimmed with gold in its place. The sleeves shrank, puffing up below the shoulder and then cinching at the elbow. The long robe shrank until it was a tunic, falling modestly halfway between the knee and the thigh, revealing white tights and a pair of shoes just shy of being fine enough to be made by his brother Bernard. I blinked.

"Is this... an illusion?" I asked.

"Illusions are tricky, you have to keep in mind everyone affected. For when you don't know who you will be deceiving, it is truly easier to transform yourself than the mind of another."

Winsor strode out of the alley. He was the same age, height, and weight, but more handsome.

"Can you... transform into anyone?" I asked.

"Hmm, within reason," Winsor said. "The closer they are to me the easier it is. This isn't too straining, since I used to disguise my appearance frequently to escape the callous frivolities of my brother, Goldwynn, Ricardo, and the others...." He trailed off, noticing my hopeful expression.

"Can you turn into a girl?" I asked, morbid curiosity overcoming me. I'd never seen anyone do anything like this before. I recalled his words to his father.

"Sure, it's harder, but not impossible. One of the elven sorcerers had a habit of casting other people into girls, actually. To embarrass them." Winsor's face darkened. "Too bad he didn't die in his Proving."

From his bitter tone, I guessed that one of those other people was Winsor. That would be a thing to see, though. I barely refrained from asking Winsor to transform. It was going to be hard enough to get the answers from him without him being a sad-eyed and scrawny girl.

We came to the gate of the town. They asked our business, and let us out into the night. The carriage gate was already closed for the night, but we were able to go through the smaller reinforced door when I flashed my forged merchant papers. Once I got Winsor out the city, and out from under supervision, the matter of forcing him to reveal Mallow's location through force would be easy.

My thumb rested on the red sash around my waist thoughtfully. As we walked and Winsor prattled on about what he did to celebrate around this time last year, my mind wandered back to the incident at the tent. The father had said that Winsor had passed his... silenced by gagging test or something? Being silenced was bad, he needed to cast to have any power. If I could pin him and cover his mouth, then I could get the answers I needed... it had worked on that Mysti Victoria.

I scratched the small patch of hair on my chin thoughtfully. No, because the second I removed the gag so that he could speak, then he could cast... I'd have to make sure we were somewhere he could... What? Write the answer down? Thankfully I was almost literate, but if he used a word I didn't know from trading, then I'd have to ask someone else.

We entered the stables where I had Flatchert and Gourd stored.

"Is Thessa here?" I asked the first worker I passed. I would have to be cautious if I didn't want her latching onto me again. The stable hand shook his head.

"She hasn't been in since last night. She seemed so excited about the work too." He was going to say something else, but I cut him off by holding up my hand.

"I'm going to check up on my horses," I said. I hurried over to my steeds. I petted their noses, the wet nostrils flaring out as if to reprimand me for being gone so long.

"They taking good care of you?" I asked affectionately. Gourd nudged me gently, and I laughed and gave her a big hug. I got some extra food out of my pocket, a bun I'd gotten earlier in the day that was now hard. She nibbled and nickered quietly.

Someone disturbed the straw behind me. I was surprised to hear a voice talking to me.

"We're taking good care of the horses, sir." Said the stableman who had received me when we entered town. He leaned to my left and right. "Where's our Giant?" He perked up. "Did ya already gift her to Master Reglar? He's not supposed to open his gifts until tomorrow evenin', at least that's what all the rich merchants keep fussing about. Don't imagine she's wrapped up though... that'd be awkward."

"Don't mention it," I said quickly. The stable hand swung his arms in front of himself idly.

"And, sir, I got to say, your present is definitely the best. No one else has brought a Moon Giant for Master Reglar."

"Quiet!" I said. "Remember, she's my daughter!"

"Ah..." The man smirked. "Ah, right, right, sir. I forgot." He winked at me and whistled. Wintery icicle, I should take away his tip for that slip up. I stepped forward to see beyond the stall and glanced along the area. Winsor was still far off, a few stalls down. He was debating the merits of a black horse and a tawny colored one.

We left the stable. Eventually he decided not to buy a horse, and asked if we could use Flatchert. Missing my pony, I agreed even though I knew my current mission might be dangerous. She spooked easily enough, and I made a mental vow that if anything went wrong, I'd give her a good shout and send her on her way galloping to safety. I hated when hoofed animals were hurt. Maybe because I tied their welfare so closely with my own.

Winsor guided the horse, and I sat behind him. He sighed once. I ignored it, staring out at the night landscape that surrounded Blythe. A little louder this time, he sighed again. I pointedly stared toward the far off forests. The trees near the town had long since been cleared away for building, firewood, and any other use a large city needed, sorcerer or no. A third sigh, Winsor's body slumping dramatically in my arms as he did so, cut into my musings on the resources of Blythe.

I realized, as my eyes glanced over the Mallow colored moon, that these sighs were not like normal sighs. Winsor was obviously asking to be consoled in that really annoying way Mallow had when she wanted me to ask what was wrong so she could say 'nothing' before sighing again. He wasn't going to stop until I said it, though, making it one of the most frustrating things about interacting with someone melancholy.

"What's wrong?" I tried to keep the preemptive defeated futility of the question out of my voice.

"Oh, nothing," Winsor said. Hex it, I knew it! How'd I know?

"Ah, I thought something was wrong because you kept sighing."

"I didn't realize I was sighing," Winsor said. Mallow always said that too.

The silence spread between us. If I pried anymore, trying to take the lid off and reveal his angst by force, he'd seal it up and let out these wistful little sighs all night. The trick was to peel back a little and eventually they would, unable to resist, leak the problem themselves. In the meantime, I let myself be soothed by the walk of the horse, and the unusual circumstance of being a rider.

We were getting closer to the ruins which would be spooky by the time we got there around midnight. I touched the top of my sash, holding onto Winsor with only one hand. Yeah, I could definitely take him, it'd be no problem, as long as he couldn't cast. So why did the idea of attacking a sorcerer, even one as sad as Winsor, churn my stomach still?

"It's odd," Winsor said.

"What?" I blurted, sincerely. In my planning to interrogate him, I had forgotten all about the sighing fit.

"Even when I'm in disguise, I still get treated differently," He sighed, making it five. This one was higher pitched than the others at the end, lilting. "I suppose appearing different doesn't cover up the unusual aroma. It's stronger after I drink the potions; it wafts from my pores."

In the distance ahead of us, the teleporter cage crackled. The singular, twisting bolt of lightning that came down to it from the sky illuminated the outer city wall, even from this far back. I felt Winsor tense beneath my arms. We kept on toward the teleporter cage for another minute. He jerked at the reins, and Flatchert trotted onto a side road as we reached a section of several branching paths.

"We're going the wrong way," I said, pointing. The straight road we'd been traveling on, which passed the teleporter cage, was the quickest route to the tower. The road we were on now moved at a gradual angle away from the main road, veering to the far east of our destination. It actually led to the tannery, which was downriver of the town and a safe enough distance that its stench wouldn't affect the citizens on a good day.

"Do not concern yourself. I'll get back onto the main road with the path that comes from the tannery warehouse. It intersects with this one and the one we were on earlier," Winsor said.

"But that's going to add another..." I tried to visualize the contour. My mind went back to the view from the weather tower with Bernard. If I had more experience I'd be able to gauge it better, but I had to rely more on how far away it sounded than appeared. "What, two miles onto the journey?"

"I don't want to ride close to the Thunder Teleporter cage," he said.

"But—"

"It'll be fine," He cut me off, showing a bit of that short temper he had backstage at the play when I had bumped into him. "We'll gallop at the end to make up for it," He finished in a more smoldering mumble, his words trailing off. I hadn't offended him in as plain of a way as when I had bumped him, but emotionally, I had done something that was definitely an affront to his honor.

"Enchanted One..." I simpered, curiosity getting the better of me. Enough time had passed; I had felt his muscles uncoil a little bit. "If I may be so bold..."

"We may be fri... on an outing together, but remember I am still a sorcerer and you are still ungifted. Keep that in consideration as you form your question."

"Certainly. Uh, what persuaded you that passing close to the teleporter cage was a poor choice?"

Winsor shuddered. "Once there was an accident there."

"An accident, Enchanted One?"

"Yes." The moonlight caught an odd reflection along his bottom eyelid, and from the way he was pulling his lips, I realized he was doing his best not to cry. The teleporter cage crackled again. His eyes were wide, following the stream of light, as if the lightning would change direction and hit him. Like a beaten dog eyeing its master, still wounded from the last blow and unsure if another would ever come.

"Are teleporter cages dangerous?" I asked. "I've seen many other Enchanted people coming to Blythe."

"No," Winsor said, but his words conflicted with his tone. "Not by themselves." He was barely audible as he stared straight ahead. The pedestal must still be in his gaze, but he no longer focused on it. Once past it, he urged the horse to go faster until we were at a gallop. He sat up taller. I held him tighter to stay put on the running horse. Into the wind, Winsor shouted, "A Teleporter cage is powerful. Like anything else powerful, it can change your life... but if it's misused..." Winsor's hair was blown back from his face. He wasn't talking to me anymore. He was shouting over the pounding hoofs on the cobblestone and the wind whipping against our ears. "If it's misused, then it becomes dangerous."

(( Shout out to everyone who got here from the Graphics threads! I'm loving all the feedback and reactions. It's really helping me think during the world building for the sequel I'm doing right now. ))