The crowded streets were filled with bodies, wagons, and booths, the air filled with abhorrent stenches of body odor and sweat. Stores lined the streets, marketers hawking their wares with large voices which overthrew the gentle hum of dialogue among the wanderers of the overflowing street. The city was bustling with activity as the sun hung delicately in the clear sky, and though the celestial orb sent her warm, glorious rays down, one figure could not help but shiver. This figure was a slender young woman, easily overlooked in such a crowd as this.

This woman was called Conrade, and her name suited her appearance perfectly. A large shapeless cloth was draped over her lithe body, reaching down until it brushed against the ground. It appeared well taken care of; the fabric appeared to be a lightly worn linen, the burnt sienna color seeming bland and unremarkable. The simple rope which tied at her waist to create a sort of figure, though not particularly feminine, fell against her leg time and time again, tapping with the rhythm of her steps. Extended sleeves would fall over her delicate hands, the fabric showing no definition as it draped in loose folds. Atop her cranium rested a hood which matched in color, excess fabric falling down the back of her head and creating a pocket of sorts which hung limply just past her neck. The hood fell down around her face, hanging slightly before tightening at the neck only to taper down onto her shoulders and across her chest and back. It was no secret that this figure was a monk, though she could easily be mistaken for a very slight man.

Life in the monastery had spoiled her with the constant, consuming mental and physical stimulation as well as decent companionship. Lately the shallow fools would scarcely substitute for the enriching conversations and exercises she was so accustomed to. I'll be growing fat in no time. She made the comment silently in her own mind, though the voice which echoed in her ears was soon banished by the overpowering hum of the street-life. It was no exaggeration to say that Lomedor was the largest city of Arda, for to get through the crowds one had to be able to morph like air. Unable to float away on a whim, Conrade found herself amidst this crowd, something which was not appreciated.

Nerves bubbled in her stomach as she maneuvered through the obstacles these people presented her with, and only when she paused to catch a new scent which filled the air did she recognize the gnawing pain filling her stomach with the emittance of a slight growl. Fingers would move from the folds of the cloak to her waist where a small, particular fold created a secure pocket to hold minor objects. The slender fingers brushed against the rough linen before meeting the smooth, cool metal of the coins she had left the monastery carrying. She may have proclaimed herself against her fathers but they simply could not allow her to walk out without a meager fortune to begin her life with and insisted she take the coins.

If only they had kept their spell to themselves as well. Her lip would lift into a sneer as she thought of what had happened the day she left them. Jeffree, her guide and protector who had taken her in as a child; how could he have done this to her. Pulling her fingers away from the coins she would shake her head slightly, pushing away the emotions which threatened to climb to the surface, the sleeve falling back over her hand, once again concealing her. As all manner of people pushed there wares, the smells of soups, meats, and freshly baked breads were the most noticeable to the hungry girl, however the scents of spiced, sweet pumpkins was the most alluring of them all. Yet for now, she was stronger than the temptation, and she waited, patiently saving her money for a later time when she had a place to rest.

These people made her nervous, most with their carefree attitudes though some with more devious intentions. She watched as nimble fingers slipped into a pouch to return with gold coins which quickly slipped out of sight. Conrade's gaze met that of the thief for a brief moment, a mask of stoicism concealing her tumultuous thoughts. Was he doing wrong? He had needs just as every other person; Conrade would turn her gaze away, trying to push the incident from her mind. Seeking a diversion, she would move towards a small crowd which had gathered around a performer who had begun busking. A hat lay unceremoniously on the ground, awaiting charity and payment from those who approved of the feats that were being performed. The corners of her lips twitched slightly, though it was not in pure amusement from the show.

Swiftly, almost as though by magic, though that was completely off limits to the woman at present, a coin would appear in her hand. A nifty trick, giving the allusion of the money appearing, though her retrieval had simply been quick without attracting attention; she had no desire to entice thieves. A single coin would fly from within the sleeve of the robe, landing neatly in the hat with a light clink of metal brushing metal. Her service to those less fortunate had been completed; her fathers would be proud.

If she was truly honest with herself, however, she would admit that charity had not been the reason for her small donation. The man was her own age, or perhaps slightly younger, with eyes which rivaled the forest for beauty and color. His body was lean and perhaps slightly underweight for his height. Right arm and left leg were covered with a crimson hue while the opposites of both were covered in a pure snowy hue. His garb was bright and vibrant, the dyed cloth obviously highest quality without a single spot which needed mending. Glittering daggers twisted and flew easily through the air, the whimsical juggling dance seeming to court death.

The crowd which had created a small arch around him gave him room to continue his act, though they were cautious not to lean in too close, fear keeping them rooted back a few feet. His smile was not unattractive, but neither was it what one would call handsome; unique and enticing were words more appropriate. He appeared almost wolfish, waiting for a moment to strike when he knew his prey would not escape him. With a new twist, he would begin bounding around, the over-sized jester's hat atop his head bouncing and jingling as the bells which hung as tassels danced in response. His deep green eyes would catch Conrade's, his smile twisting as he demanded her gaze remain trapped in the allure of his own.

"In these trying times we find
The cuts and flaws within our minds,
And as those nether gates do swing
So shall the song of death we sing;
For death is but a second birth
And our journey: gloom to mirth."

His voice was melodic and cheerful, though his words held a much darker message woven into their midst. If only the riddle of this man could be solved. Conrade's mind began working on this puzzle, her eyes still trapped by the silent spell.

Just outside Lómëdor was one of many large estates, owned by a rich merchant. Pruned hedgerows and white picket fences lined the property, and carefully landscaped cherry trees and beautiful annual flowers brought in from distant parts of the realm surrounded the house and stable. The horses were all groomed impeccably, and even the grooms and stable boys seemed to maintain an immaculate appearance.

A young girl in her mid-twenties emerged from the front door of the main house and bounded eagerly down the stairs. She jingled a moderate-sized purse in her left skirt pocket; her reward for two weeks' hard work. The merchant had hired her to help his head coachman gentle a young gelding and cure several newly-acquired horses of some stubborn habits. Rièle had found the coachman and his crew amenable to her suggestions, and felt that her work with the horses had not only been well-received but would help both the workers and the horses maintain a good relationship in the future.

Rièle practically skipped down the road, pleased with her earnings. She didn't normally work for more than food and board, but she was in dire need of a new pair of boots that didn't constantly pound at her toes and give her blisters. With the earnings she'd made she would not only be able to buy the boots, but a well-cooked meal and enough travel food to last until she reached the next town.

As she walked she smiled at passing travelers, glowing inwardly with pride for her work and at the prospect of traveling somewhere new. Rièle could never stay in one place very long before an itch within her would emerge, and long to travel somewhere else. Her capacity for perception was rarely satisfied unless it was constantly being fed the beauty or fascination of something new and different. She loved walking through the woods and encountering new plants and animals, and wondering at the ecological subtleties in which such creatures had learned to exist. Every animal seemed to have its own behavioral idiosyncrasies, and she was mesmerized by their study. Hours of her days were spent in contemplation of what it was to think like a snake or fish or bird, and of how each interacted with others of its species.

Horses, however, were her link to the human world. Besides her family and the few kindred spirits she'd met in her travels, Rièle had always had little interest in her own interactions with other people. It was a fact that saddened her sometimes, when she chose to dwell on it, but for now she accepted the life she'd chosen and the happiness it brought her. Horses and humans had a nearly unique working relationship that required each to understand aspects of the other's behaviors. Both species were intelligent enough for this to work, but they possessed such different mentalities that communication was often difficult. Horses were the simpler of the two, as a herd animal. Humans were much more complicated, and often expected horses to understand or reciprocate feelings or behaviors that were unique to their own mentality. This created problems, but Rièle knew that almost any horse was willing to accept the relationship as long as they were treated kindly and consistently.

The city of Lómëdor was bustling, and Rièle shuffled along with a line of shoppers, travelers, and people going about their business. She found the press of so many people somewhat uncomfortable, but allowed herself to take pleasure in the warmth of the sun on the back of her neck and the buzz of insects around her head. It was a long walk to the market, and Rièle made her way through the crowd without hurry, observing the fast-paced and noisy bustling of the inhabitants of the city. Everything on the surface seemed to emanate from chaos, but a tenuous sort of order structured their actions. Such a life was almost alien to her, and yet she felt a yearning to fall in with so many of her own kind.

Smiling at her own thoughts, Rièle pushed the notion aside. Boots, remember? she chided to herself. You only need boots.

The market was even busier than the rest of the city, and Rièle found it difficult to navigate the crowd without constantly bumping into people. This seemed to be the way of things here, however, so she slowly pushed her way through the crowd to the various leather workers' stalls. She took her time comparing prices and examining stitching and materials, confident that she would be able to select a pair that would last a long time and not be so abusive to her toes.

Her browsing proceeded until she collided with another person, the resulting bump being somewhat stranger than normal and located in a suspicious place. Instinctively, she checked her pocket.

Her purse was gone.

Whirling around, Rièle saw a young boy fleeing through the crowd behind her. His slim form and quick step allowed him to easily navigate the crowd of people, and he was getting away at remarkable speed. Rièle was a confident runner, and quickly took off in pursuit of the young thief.

She instantly found that running in the woods was very different from running through a crowded market. She bumped into people, knocked over baskets, and was forced to divert her route or leap over objects that suddenly appeared in her path. All the while her target seemed to be growing no closer, and he was clearly adept at this haphazard sort of navigation.

Suddenly the youth broke into a clearing of people that surrounded a street performer. He dodged past the knife-juggling man and back into the crowd without ever seeming to slow down. Rièle made to follow him, but at the last moment a small child darted into her path. She couldn't stop herself in time, and soon found herself tripping on the child and heading face-first into the dirt. Several of the performer's props were knocked over by her fall, though she somehow managed not to hit the man himself. She nimbly rolled out of her fall and stood up to look for the youth who'd stolen her purse, but he had disappeared beyond her sight.

Depression consumed her.

Sparkling emeralds held her captured gaze for what seemed a lifetime, though perhaps it was merely moments. If she remained in such a state for much longer, the woman would appear to have completely lost her senses. Already she had given to his charity, though he needed none by the looks of things for clearly he had no difficulties affording the splendor of his lifestyle. Still those thoughts refused to form themselves coherently within her mind while she was enchanted; how could anyone be unimpressed with such a feat?

Her mind cleared itself suddenly, a young boy leaping and darting around the feet of the peculiar jester. As her gaze broke the bond between the young man and herself, she found herself watching the thief from earlier. Previous thoughts began to once again plague her mind, the ideals she held so firmly to seeming small and insignificant in such a situation. She would shake her head. No, this was merely her extensive years with the fathers, for they would declare this situation clearly an opening for charity and kindness. Stop the boy... The voice filled her mind as she watched the young pick pocket move with abnormal familiarity around the performer.

But that was not the boy the disembodied voice spoke of, for as the woman spun on her heel to leave before the hectic skirmish began, she scarcely caught sight of a small figure darting into the path of another who seemed in hot pursuit of the little thief. Time seemed to slow as her mind worked through thoughts of stopping the boy. No, her fathers were still exerting their influence over her, even when she was out from under their overprotective wings. She refused to be so weak. Pushing emotions from her mind, the woman would observe the next actions without more than a simple blink; the child would be trampled while the other was sent into a rough collision with the earth. Conrade turned to leave, bypassing the little accident which had just been witnessed, but something stayed her. The emerald eyes which had captivated her appeared darker, much more sinister as he watched the confusion with approval and though his gaze never did stray in the direction of the thief, the woman had a strong inclination that he would be receiving quite a large paycheck in the very near future.

Just because she did not believe in the teachings of her late masters, did that mean she was to turn cold and heartless? Another quick turn would place her inside the small crowd which had parted to give room to the disturbance, though only two had knelt to help. One was presumed the young boy's mother, the way she whined and proclaimed about his insubstantial wounds. Seeing the other was being seen to, Conrade would kneel next to the child to hush the shrieking noises the mother had begun to utter. Had they been coherent sounds, perhaps endurance would be acceptable; muttering a silencing curse, the monk would watch the other woman as her squeals continued with more urgency. Closing her eyes, she would allow a sigh to escape past her lips; as if she could use her magic; she knew the curse was not to be lifted so easily.

Kneeling next to the boy, she refrained from allowing her eyes to travel up to meet his, but instead took notice of the small scrapes and bruises he had received. She would close her eyes, allowing a soft, near silent, mutter to escape "Please allow me this." Her prayer was not one to the gods, but rather to Jeffree as if he could lift the curse from such a far distance. It was not charity which caused the reverent request, but the dull ache which grew with each second those unfamiliar sounds filled the air. Placing her hands on the wounds, for the better conductivity would perhaps will the magic back within her fingers. The healing spell was muttered softly, for her ease of passage would be seriously damped if she attracted too much attention. A very faint blue glow appeared at her fingertips, or did she merely imagine that? At a second glance, there was nothing more than her hand, shaking slightly. She had been traveling too far; perhaps the time to stop for a meal had truly arrived.

Slowly removing her hands, dreading the result as her stomach plummeted slightly, her brows would raise in surprise. The wounds were not faded in the slightest, but instead issued a thick crimson trickle of blood. Pulling sparse fabric from the folds of her sleeves, she would touch the scrape gently, though not enough to keep the boy from screaming in protest. This outburst merely served to enhance his mother's squeals who had taken up the challenge of being the loudest in the street. The pain within Conrade's skull was simply-stated: torturous. Rising to her feet, having done all she was capable of, she would turn abruptly to move, the mother grasping at her robes as if it was her duty in this life to save this woman's son from a minute amount of pain. Soundlessly, she would ignore the mother move near the woman who had been involved in the fall, the monk's features scarcely visible beneath the hood. Gray blue eyes would meet the bright greens of the other, this new "friend's" freckled skin giving her a charmingly country appearance, there was little which could be speculated however...

Her fingers would emerge from the sleeve as she extended her hand to greet the other. Whether or not she accepted the kindness of the silent introduction, the monk would turn and move towards a small stall which appeared uncrowded. At the last moment, she would turn to see if the other had followed her, fingers reaching up to push the hood back from her head. The most noticeable peculiarity about this woman was that her hair had all been sheered as though she truly was a man. Her features were marked by high cheekbones and a strong jawline. Her eyes were a murky grey blue which glanced about as if to see if she had made a spectacle of herself. Finding no undue attention in the expressions of the passerbys, she would allow her gaze to trail, attempting to catch sight of the young woman she had not gotten a chance to speak with; fortunately she was still near enough to be heard. The voice which next filled the air was calm, with a timbre which was hard to place. It was not deep and masculine, but neither was it the high tones of some females. Rather her voice was simply, yet peculiarly feminine. "We should get you out of the way. You are welcome to join me at dinner; food and drink will help settle the mind." It will mine, at least. She added the last part to herself, her own silent voice ringing in her ears. The corners of her lips turned slightly upwards at the familiarity of the sound.