A series of loud bangs on his door woke Arn up. A few seconds later, he heard a muffled "breakfast." Quick footsteps descended the rickety stairs from his attic room, then several muffled bangs, all followed by the same call to breakfast.

His dream slowly faded to memory and the waking world asserted itself fully. He sat up on the bed, rubbed one eye and yawned. This was a much better sleep than he'd expected to have at the inn.

When he came down to the tavern, it was already nearly full; serving girls and boys darted all over the place.

Really fills up in the morning, he thought, where did they all come from?

Many of the patrons were already finishing up, though he did see a handful that, like himself, were just arriving. He shuffled towards an empty table and plopped down on the chair.

"Token please!" a serving girl called out the second he sat down.

"Sorry, I only have my own token," he replied.

She glared at him.

"Oh, spirits! What's wrong with me…" he mumbled and took out the Scholar's token to show her. The girl shook her head, checked the token with a brief touch, and ran off to get his meal.

The smell of food had finally woken him and his hungry stomach. It growled menacingly as the girl returned with breakfast - apparently loud enough for her to notice. She knitted her brows and gave him a disapproving look but was gone before he could say anything. Arn blushed.

Breakfast consisted of beans, stewed turnips, and fresh bread with a side of morning tea. It was surprisingly delicious, and he inhaled it without fully relishing the flavours.

His hunger satisfied, Arn leaned back in the chair and sipped on his tea. I should register with the small council, get a mentor, he thought. I'll just review the letter a few more times before I go, he decided.

By the time Arn left the Scholar's Shack, it was already early afternoon. His journey to The Small Council Hall started in the unsavoury Industrial section of Kalarhan. Arn stuck to the main road and hoped that it led to the town's center. The road was wider and with more foot traffic than the smaller path, and the presence of people made him feel safer, though not by much.

Each time he looked down one of the alleys off the main road, his chest tightened, and his heart beat faster. He wasn't sure whether it was his unfamiliarity with the town or the streets themselves that made him feel that way.

The uneasy feeling persisted the entire way to the central thoroughfare and remained strong until he saw the ornamented brick fences of the clan houses that faced the town's center. Everything looked to be in better shape around here. There were still cracks and missing cobblestones, but nothing like what he saw earlier.

"You made it, Arn; it's going to be fine," he mumbled under his breath.

He approached the large stone structure of the Small Council Hall and entered through the doorless arch into the welcoming foyer. As per tradition, no doors barred entry into the council's halls. The gesture was supposed to signify trust and convey a welcoming message to all visitors. The town constable standing beside the entryway somewhat undermined the message.

He crossed the small room and passed through heavy pelt curtains that served as a buffer against the cold and wind outside. He entered the reception area, where the crisp winter air gave way to a stuffy aroma of dust and dampness. Arn started towards the reception desk, but the elderly receptionist pointed a bony finger towards the bench - Arn obliged.

An hour or so later and at the end of his patience, he ignored the receptionist's finger and approached the desk.

"Wait for your number to be called," the man said before Arn had opened his mouth. His voice was deeper but no less droning than his colleague at the Scholar's Shack inn.

"I don't have a number," Arn protested.

The man looked up and slid his spectacles down his long nose. His mouth twisted, and he sighed. "You're supposed to take a number from the doorman - over there," he shook his bony finger towards the entrance to the hall.

"The doorman? He didn't -"

"For ElarSaga's sake, take a number and sit down," the man barked and returned to his papers. The older man glanced up, surprised that Arn was still there, and knitted his brows. "I'm going," Arn said.

The doorman wore a mischievous smile when he gave Arn the number. He must have known I'd come back, Arn thought.

It was another hour before his number was called - the elderly receptionist looked almost disappointed at having to finally admit him. The man sneered at Arn, turned to the doorway across the waiting room, and bolted. Arn gaped in surprise but quickly ran after him.

The hallways looked very old - not the ancient and majestic kind, just old and decrepit. Small cracks and peeling paint covered the walls, and Arn didn't see a single intact tapestry. The floors, at least, appeared to have been cleaned recently.

Arn had caught up just in time; the receptionist was just in the process of turning down a forked hallway. They passed several doors, then turned another corner where the man abruptly stopped before an open door. He motioned Arn to go inside and left without waiting for confirmation.

Arn shrugged, then walked through the door. It led into a small office - not much larger than his room at the inn. A narrow slit of a window cast a pale ray of light on a very messy table. Behind it sat a tiny old woman, nearly hidden by the piles of books, papers, charms, and things he couldn't identify.

The woman didn't seem to notice him. Arn cleared his throat and took several steps into the small office. She finally looked up.

"How can I help you?" she said with just the slightest hint of impatience.

"I'm Arn Sar Stonefather," his mouth suddenly felt very dry, and he swallowed before continuing, "I'm a scholar on my Lonthlarad; I wish to stay at Kalarhan to continue my studies."

The woman gave the smallest of one-sided smiles. "Another Scholar, eh?" she said, "quite a few of you come to Kalarhan. Why would you go all the way to the west of Oshaaland, hmm? Plenty of beautiful spots away from here."

Arn frowned and put his hands behind his back, for he didn't quite know what to do with them. "I study border town history," he said.

The woman mouthed 'o' and raised her eyebrows, "very well, very well," she said, then opened one of the drawers and took out a document. "Give me your token, and you have your Tjoreal on you, do you boy?"

"Yes, I do," Arn replied and obliged.

The woman took his token and placed it on a stone tablet with an indent in the shape of a token. It was covered in writing which Arn couldn't read - like all inscriptions of this kind; it must have been the old tongue.

"Channel, please," she said.

Arn approached the table and put his hand on the token registry tablet. He concentrated on the Esarel energy that flowed through him and focused it into the stone - he felt it flow from him and into the Tjoreal bracelet around his left wrist, then into the token registry. The etched symbols briefly glowed blue.

"Very well," the woman said, then returned the token to him and handed him the parchment. "Give this to the nice man at the reception, and he will know what to do with it. You've got six weeks from today - go on now."

The brevity of the exchange took him by surprise. Was he forgetting something? Should he be asking for something? His thoughts spun in circles, but nothing came to him.

Upon seeing his indecision, the woman exhaled audibly. "Go on back to the Scholar's Shack. All you'll need will await there," she said.

"Thank you," Arn said. Even though she had already gone back to her documents, he felt uncomfortable turning his back to the woman. Instead, he backed out of the room gingerly then hurried off down the corridor.

Arn's visit to the Small Council took longer than expected, and his fear of trudging through the town in the dark was coming true with every passing minute. The cold wind sent a chill up his spine, though it could have been the lengthening shadows that seemed to crawl towards him. The dark alleys to either side of the main road seemed empty, though he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him.

Arn came upon a sturdy stone bridge spanning a small stream. Among the sounds of the flowing water, he heard something else, a kind of high-pitched meowing. He looked around for the source, but the street and the bridge were equally empty.

The stream created a break in the town's buildings that led all the way to the forest. A thin row of trees grew on each bank. The dusk light couldn't penetrate their foliage, and Arn couldn't see much of anything beyond a dozen feet or so.

Am I surprised that the meowing is coming from there? No, no, I'm not, he thought while staring into the darkness.

His mind told him to leave, but a part of him, his intuition, he judged, told him to help.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought while climbing down the slope and into the small wooded area. The meowing reminded Arn of a small animal, and it was getting louder.

Just as he began to regret his decision, Arn saw movement ahead. He slowed down and approached more carefully. A snow leopard cub barely clung to a dry tree branch over the stream. It meowed loudly and was clearly stuck. The branch didn't look stable and already had a few cracks.

"You're crazy!" he mumbled to himself while taking off his parka. "No," he whispered, "I beat the weakness; I can do this."

The branch was on the brink of snapping just from the cub's weight, and it would certainly not bear Arn's bulk. He realized that he'd have to get into the water.

I can do this! he thought and tightened his fists. Arn paced his breathing and focused on the surface of his body. He willed Esarel into his Tjoreal bracelet and then all around himself. In the academy, they were taught to create a thin air barrier to maintain warmth - but that was designed for air, not water.

Arn spent nearly a minute gathering up all the Esarel he could muster and willing it into the barrier around himself. Then, following a mental count of three, he waded into the river. Arn felt a weight press against his mind, the weight of keeping his barrier up. Even with it, he was almost freezing.

He crossed the stream to the branch with the cub, whose tiny claws were firmly embedded in the dry wood. Its round blue eyes stared at Arn with a mix of fear and confusion as it clung for dear life. The stream was just waist-deep. Arn thought that any deeper, and he wouldn't be able to maintain the barrier.

"I'll help you," he whispered while taking off his scarf. He used the fabric to wrap around the cub and hold it tight as it struggled. As soon as the cub was secured, Arn hurried out of the river. He felt numb waist down, but the spell regained its full effect as soon as he was out of the water.

Now that he was on dry land, the barrier had greater potency. He felt relatively warm despite the wet clothes. Arn put the bundle of scarf and cub on the ground and let the critter out. The cub didn't seem particularly eager to leave the warm and cozy fabric. Arn laughed with relief.

His relief was short-lived. A loud roar drew his attention. He jerked towards it and saw a large snow leopard, likely the cub's mother.

Bear piss! he thought, I knew it, I knew it! Should never have come here!

Arn held the cub out towards the leopard, "here. I saved him, I am not going to hurt him. Take the cub," he said in as calm a voice as he could muster.

The leopard advanced towards Arn, ears pressed back, fangs bare, growling and snarling as it did.

Arn slowly placed the cub on the snow, and it meowed loudly as it tried to go to its mother.

Oh no, it's caught in the scarf! Arn reached to try and untangle the cub, but the mother growled at him.

"I'm just getting him out! I am not hurting him," he yelled to no effect.

Arn reached with both hands and pulled the scarf open. One of the cub's claws was stuck in the fabric, and Arn tried to pull it off.

The mother leopard roared one final time and charged him.

Arn's heart lurched as an unfamiliar instinct took over. The world around him faded, the colours became muted. The leopard's body drained of colour; it became a black and white shadow with glowing eyes that focused on Arn.

Arn felt his bracelet. The Tjoreal was tight around his wrist and felt as though it was choking him. Vague surprise registered, but he kept focus on the leopard.

The instinct he felt earlier urged Arn to draw on the energy around himself. He briefly wondered how, but before long, tendrils of pale yellow light flowed into him. It didn't feel like Esarel, not exactly. The energy allowed him to feel the trees and the water, the snow and the earth, everything around him.

He felt the leopard, too, but the beast resisted him. When he drew on its energy with more force, it shrieked and took a step back. He could sense its fear. Why? He wondered.

I don't want to hurt you! he said, but the sound didn't come out of his mouth. He tugged at the cub's paw and finally freed it. The leopard growled again and started towards Arn. He drew on its energy in return, and it shrieked once more.

Suddenly, a blur shot down from the sky and flowed into the leopard. Its colourless body glowed yellow-green, and its eyes focused on Arn. He no longer sensed the wild fear and rage. What is happening? Arn thought.

A wave of energy washed over Arn and broke his focus. The world regained its colour, everything including the leopard, now seeming calm and almost thoughtful.

It approached slowly, and their eyes met. Arn knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this wasn't the beast that found him moments earlier. The leopard held his gaze, eyes blazing with the yellowish-green light. Then, it picked up the cub and bound away into the woods.

"Elar'Saga?" Arn whispered after it.

The Tjoreal almost burned on his wrist. It snapped him back to the cold and dark of the small grove. It had never done that before; Arn stared at the bracelet as the sensation slowly faded.

Elar'Saga, watch over me. I'm not going to make it back before it's completely dark outside, he thought as he walked back onto the main road. He looked down at his wet clothes; I'll have to maintain the barrier the whole way back, he thought.