"Alright, one new set of clothes, coming up," she said, flitting off of his paw. "What does the master prefer? Something stylish? How about something with frills and fringe? Maybe a nice waistcoat? I hear straw hats are all the rage in Tu Lung."
"How about the same thing you made last time," he retorted.
"No imagination," she teased, then bent to the task.
When the clothes simply appeared, Var stood up. "Pardon my intrusion, but if you want to make it in the desert, don't wear the shirt," he spoke up.
"What? Why?"
"Because you carry the brands," he replied calmly. "They are true brands, and any Selani that sees them will know. If you show the brands, you'll avoid a great many challenges. You don't have to meet every clan you cross, but they won't chase you down if they see you."
"I figured that I'd get into trouble if the Selani saw them," he said uncertainly.
"You'll get in less trouble if you do," Var told him with a slight smile. "You're not wearing clothes appropriate for the desert and you're still alive, so I guess that your kind are resistant to the desert heat. If that's so, I suggest you go without a shirt."
"What did he say?" Sarraya asked.
"He told me I'll get into less trouble with the Selani if I show my brands," he told her. "I thought otherwise, but I'll go on Var's word."
"Var?"
"He's the same one I fought," he replied.
"I know that, but I didn't realize he gave you his name."
"His friend did," he told her calmly. "What do you think? A black vest, to go along with my fur?"
"May as well go with style," Sarraya grinned.
"You don't seem too surprised about the clothes, Var," Tarrin noted as Sarraya conjured a vest. It was black leather, as supple as cloth, plain and utilitarian. Sarraya had even had the foresight to put slots in the back through which the sword's thong could pass.
"I know that both of you are magicians," he said calmly. "Surely one of you is using whatever magic you know to make the clothes."
That legendary Selani stoicism. Nothing really surprised them. He put on the vest, and found that it fit well enough. It left his chest and midriff bare, pale skin that was already beginning to visibly darken under the intensifying sun. Without giving it a second thought, Tarrin pulled off the ruined trousers, then put on the new ones. They too fit perfectly, mainly because Sarraya had conjured clothes for him so many times that she had the sizing down to an art. He laced the thongs of his sword through the vest, a trick possible only because of his unnatural dexterity and coordination, then pulled it into place and tied the two ends together with a secure knot.
The result was a curious sight. Tan breeches, black vest, and it opened almost like curtains to proudly display the black metal amulet around his neck, the symbol of the katzh-dashi, the holy symbol of his Goddess. It had been a long time since he'd left his arms completely bare. He felt more uninhibited in the clothing than anything he'd worn before, and found almost immediately that he liked them. He put on the simple belt carrying a dagger and a few other simple belongings around his waist, and found that he felt ready to move.
"I appreciate your watching over me, but it's time for me to move on, Var," he said. "I hope your journey back to your clan is a safe one."
"You're leaving?" he asked. "But I had many questions to ask you."
"I'm not the kind of person you want to know, Var," he said grimly, looking directly into his eyes as he said it.
"Perhaps I could travel with you?"
"No," he said adamantly. "If you could even keep up, I still wouldn't allow it. I don't like strangers. Call it a racial trait. You'd find me to be more dangerous than that kajat was. I can deal with you when you're over there, but if you get too close to me, I may strike at you without warning." He settled the sword into place on his back, giving the Selani a calm look. "You'll be much safer going back to your clan anyway. I attract trouble like that carcass attracted the vultures."
"A pity. It would be worth the time to speak with you, to come to know one with such honor that a Selani would grant him blood kinship without the approval of her clan."
"It's a very long story, and one that would change your opinion of me," he said directly. "Just forget it, and forget me. You're better off that way." He shifted his thinking so that he could speak to Sarraya. "Are you ready to go? Anything in our path?"
"Yes and not a thing," she replied. "Finish scaring the Selani, and we'll be on our way."
"What makes you think I'm scaring him?"
"I can hear the attitude in your voice," she winked.
Tarrin snorted, but he couldn't really argue with her. He was trying to scare off the Selani. He turned to Var as Sarraya flitted up and away, towards the west, to precede him and warn him of any dangers. "I thank you for your advice, and I'm sorry if I sound cold, but reality is a cold place," he told him. "Just go back to your clan. You don't want any part of me. Trust me."
And with that, Tarrin turned and started bounding from boulder to boulder with the same ease that a human would walk along a street. He quickly put the Selani behind him, going faster than he could follow, his mind already working to make sense of what had happened.
And to deal with the strange sense of regret he felt at leaving Var behind. Why would he feel that way? Var was a stranger, an outsider, and Tarrin feared him. But then he realized that speaking Selani, to hear it from a native, was kindling his yearning to be with Allia. Var's voice and manner had reminded him of loved ones far away, and a part of him wanted to be near Var if only to feel that he was closer to Allia.
But he wasn't Allia. She was well out of the port of Tor, maybe even around the Cape of Storms, the peninsula that marked the end of the Sea of Glass and the beginning of the Sea of Storms, the southwestern tip of the mainland of Shace. She was on board a ship, surrounded by other friends, safely escorted by Wikuni warships as they sailed to Suld.
Allia was far away. He only had his memory of her, his love for her, to sustain him until they were again together.
The other problem was Sorcery. He remembered what had happened. It was just like any other time he'd lost his temper, but this time, there was nobody there to reign him in. And there would be nobody from now on. He could not afford to lose his temper again, he knew that now. If he went into a rage, and stayed in it long enough to prevent himself from using that same trick of High Sorcery to defuse himself, he'd end up dead. The Cat didn't care about life or death, it was supported only by his own fury, and it would not seek to preserve itself so long as it perceived threat to itself. He wasn't about to die now, after having come so far, having survived against all odds so many times. He wouldn't get killed by his own temper. He would not. He had never had much success keeping his temper before, but now the stakes were much, much higher. Now, he had a very good reason to do his absolute best not to fly into a rage.
His very life depended upon it.
Tarrin moved away from the Selani, mind working to deal with what had happened when he nearly lost control of the Weave, haunted by images of an eyeless girl whose empty stare chilled his soul, seeking something within that would allow him to use his magic safely.
It was a mind heavy with problems.
Up. Down. Up. Down.
The sea carried with it a kind of numbing monotony, rising and falling as the wind unsettled its suface, wind that could travel thousands and thousands of longspans without encountering something to oppose it. Over this endless bobbing surface sailed eight ships, gathered together tightly, moving at a stately pace dictated by the ship in the center of the formation. Seven of them were sleek, polished examples of maritime excellence, seven Clipper ships, among the fastest ships ever to sail the twenty seas. All were heavily armed, packed to the rails with sailors and Marines, and ready to battle just about anything as they kept a protective ring around the eighth vessel.