"Take off your clothes and get in!”

The girl was standing naked in a washing through with hot water, Garrett was kneeling before it, soap and brush in hand. They were in their room in the estate the morning after they camped at the edge of the forest.

“Sit down, I need to douse you first.”

He was washing and grooming her. Getting her back to full health would take some time. Travelling over roads and through forests with a malnourished, sickly child was a bad idea.

"Stand up.”

He made use of the occasion to look at her health and anatomy more closely, he had read a few sources on crolachans, but he had found that much of the available information on them was conflicting or hard to believe.

“Tilt your head forward.”

Her fur was very short, too short to bury his finger in it, but it had a soft feel to it, the hair was fine and smooth after being washed, albeit still crawling with lice and fleas. The skin on her chest, belly, the inner side of her extremities, as well as under her arms, and between her legs, seemed naked and pink at a glance, but upon closer inspection was covered by a light fuzz.

“Give me your hands.”

Her hands and feet intrigued him especially. Instead of nails she had claws that curved along the fingertips, reminding him of a cat’s claws, albeit not retractable, but her fingertips were very soft, so if she tightened her grip on something, her fingertips would give way and her claws consequently be brought to whatever she was gripping; with the right grip and dexterity, Garrett could see her easilyburrowing her claws into skin or wood. Right now however,her claws were broken, frayed and otherwise poorly kept, if she took care of them, they would serve her well.

“Quit wincing! Lift your arm up.”

Her joints seemed flexible and mobile, although that could simply have been because she was a young girl. Some of her bones were not properly straight, especially the limbs, which was common among slave children kept indoors or underground. Her ears were long, pointy and mobile. She could raise them up almost perfectly straight, point them backwards or straight to the sides, as well as turn them. So far, they’d often been hanging down, accompanied by slouched shoulders or laid flat and tight to the sides of her head in nervousness. Occasionally they would twitch up towards a sound.

“Good, now turn around.”

Her tail was short, barely reaching halfway down the thigh, he couldn't imagine it being very useful for balance, like many animals used theirs. Her back looked fine, her spine showed no malformation and she had a normal posture. Her skin had many scratches, some of which had gotten infected, but otherwise she did not seem to have any scabs or wounds.

“Turn back to me, open your mouth.”

The insides of her mouth showed a few sore spots and badly healed wounds. She had normal teeth with the exception of the canines, which were much larger, longer and sharper than those of humans, especially the upper ones. Her teeth were also in need of proper care. One was missing but he could see the tip of another one coming up right below it. Her nose was short and flat, the tip somewhat turned up.

“Look me in the eyes, don’t blink.”

Her eyes were the colour of brass, almost shining, and had a slit-oval pupil, like that of a fox or a cat. She had no squint and her pupils were clear, her sclera was free of any parasites or disease as well.

During the entire time that he was washing and examining her, she seemed uneasy. He explained that he was making sure she was healthy but she remained nervous. She was however not showing signs of outright panic or fright, so he assumed that she had not experienced frequent physical abuse.

Garrett had already gotten an extra brush and lice-comb for her, alongside different lotions for her fur. Crolachans’ coats were hard to keep shiny and healthy, and crolachans themselves were notoriously obsessed with cleanliness.

Garrett got over to the chest with his stashed stuff. He left it here in the estate's owner’s care when he stayed here before.He got the girl her own clothes and equipment: A backpack, a wooden spoon and bowl, a cup, a thick blanket, a large hooded cloak similar to the one he wore, a shirt, pants, a sash, and leather wrappings for her hands and feet. Despite his best research, Garrett could not confirm how well normal gloves and shoes would fit a crolachan, but his worries turned out to be unfounded, her hands and feet had normal proportions. He had bought everything a bit larger in size so she could grow into it. Lastly, he also took a length of fine,red cloth. It was smooth and embroidered with flowing patterns, long enough to be worn around the neck as a scarf or bow and wide enough to cover her neck.

“Always wear this, it will hide your scars. We can’t risk anyone finding out about them.”

The girl seemed to like the accessory.

“And if anyone should ever ask you something while I’m not around, remember: I’m escorting you to relatives in Halonnes.”

“What’s Allon?”

“Halonnes, it’s a big city far from here.”

“How long will we take to get there?”

“We’re not going there. It's a lie to fool people who might try to find us.”

The girl tilted her head. “But I was told lying is wrong.”

Garrett paused and sighed. “The lie protects you from those that want you ill. The more people know about you, the more vulnerable you become. It is alright to lie to protect yourself.”

They got dressed and went to the dining area to see what was left of dinner. The other patrons of the farming estate – mostly travellersstaying for one night or just one meal – had already cleared the dinning hall. Garrett knew that rich meals would be as essential to the girl’s recovery as physical exercise. It would take some care, but he was convinced she'd make a quick recovery. Then the actual training could begin. But long before that, they could leave this place. The walls seemed to have eyes and out in the open he felt even more watched. They were already in Sturreland, slavery was outlawed here, but one never knew who might stretch their fingers over the border.

They spent the afternoon taking a long walk around the fields of the estate. Garrett wanted to make sure her body got used to long periods of activity and being outside as opposed to locked up in a basement with no windows.

At one point, Nannade’s dared to ask some questions she had been holding back. “What will you teach me?” was one of them.

“I am a Hidden Hand. Did you ever hear of those?”

“No.” The girl replied. Of course she didn’t, even among the population that led normal lives in the outside world, they were barely more than a rumour or regarded as ramblings of the paranoid.

“We make sure that mages, warlocks, druids and many other powerful people do not misuse their power. For that, we are contracted by groups like universities, the city guard, guilds and churches, then we find the bad people and punish them according to the laws.”

“And what will you teach me?”

“Everything necessary for that. How to fight, how to cast spells, how to sneak, how to steal, how to hide and how to plan ahead.”

“Will it take very long?”

“Until you are an adult.”

The girl remained silent for a while. “And will you set me free then?”

“Only if you do not set yourself free first.”

“How?”

“If you manage to run away from me. Or kill me. But know that you owe me your freedom and your life. You owe me a lot of your time and service, so you should remember that I will chase you to the ends of the world, if you try to flee from me.”

She did not answer anything to that. Instead she looked at the distant forests.

After supper they retired to their room. Garrett was sitting on the table going through his notes, marking down Nannade’s health and progress so far, while she was watching. He knew she'd have to get to learning the scripts soon. She was already behind on it compared to the students of druids, mages and others. But for now, to get the girl’s mind on something useful, he showed her a few dexterity exercises, like letting a coin roll over her fingers or spinning a knife, but eventually, she just lay on the bed, fully clothed, and fell asleep.

Although she seemed shy, sometimes even afraid of him, she still expressed a strong desire for a feeling of security. That evening after supper, after she got into bed, she immediately nestled in next to him. She seemed to enjoy even basic human closeness. In her sleep, her hands clenched and held on to his arms. He was glad she did not have very sharp claws for now.

Their days on the estate quickly fell into a routine; bathing, grooming and airing out all the bedding and blankets, jogging along the fields and another grooming again in the evening. He paid very close attention to what the girl ate and occasionally ordered extra food for her. He also used the opportunity to learn more about the girl.

Apparently, she was nine years old, but she didn’t know when her name day was or when she had last asked her mother how old she was. Her father was “a gladiator in the arena” she had said, but Garrett knew that the dirty assortment of huts that called itself a “city” had no arena. It had fighting pits, where they would throw slaves to get mangled by wild beasts.Garrett did not know whether the father had been the slave or the beast. Occasionally, her father would “make it so that mammy didn’t have to work for a day” so they could go out into the city and get fresh air and maybe a treat for the girl. The mother used to have her own room for work, “with a bed and pretty dresses”, but then “the men stopped paying for her” so she was moved to the basement. Garrett deduced that the mother’s value decreased, most likely due to child birth and sickness. Crolachans’ coats quickly turned scraggy and dull without attention; a ship captain had once told him that they crolachan crew would often keep to themselves, occupied with all the grooming and care they could afford at sea. The girl had actually spent most of her time cleaning in the inn, not even entrusted to waiting tables or handling food, being locked back up in the basement when she was tired. Overall, her life experiences consisted of cold walls and mouldy straw.

Half a dozen days had passed before the two of them were finally unable to find any more lice on each other. He still made it a habit to check her head frequently. Her fur had taken on a pretty sheen. Brushing her in the morning was becoming an enjoyable ritual for the two.

During their entire stay, Garrett had noticed Nannade drawing quite a few curious looks, especially during meal times in the dining hall. Every time Garrett spotted a pair of eyes dart over to them, he had doubts in the back of his head. Did those people look like guards? or investigators? or thugs? Did they know of the escaped crolachan? or maybe even a price on the heads of the two? Maybe someone had sent one of Garrett’s own trade after him?

One day at lunch, there was a group of children present, a bit younger than Nannade. Garrett noticed them whispering to each other while looking at her. He could tell by the flicking and twisting of her ears that she was trying to listen in. He leaned close to her.

"Do you want to play with them?"

She nodded cautiously.

"Alright, but first: Remember that people are looking for us and what kind of people they are. Protect yourself." Then he smiled and gave her a gentle shove towards the group.

That and the next day Nannade spent playing with this group of rather active and noisy children. Garrett found it oddly satisfying to watch her chase around and get chased around by other children. He came from a land where slavery was not practiced, so he could not imagine what it felt like being property from the day one was born, but it was obvious to him that her not being allowed to leave that stinking hut of an inn had dealt a heavy blow to her understanding of other people. Yet here she was, taking part in the play of others as if she had never been an outsider at all.

He fell deeper into thought until he felt a tuck on his clothes. Nannade was standing before him with daisies and dandelions woven into her wild mane. The other kids were nowhere to be seen but she had a big smile on her face and held an apple on her hands. "Timmothy gave this to me!" She looked rather cute as she stood there, presenting the magnificent gift she had received from her short-lived friendship. He smiled. Now that the lice were no longer a problem to be dealt with, he decided the next morning would be a good time for what he had promised her at the edge of the forest.

After breakfast, the two of them sat in their room on opposing sides of the table. On the table was a paper scroll laid out. Garrett drew lines with a piece of sketching coal, half from memory, half according to his calculations. The girl was very attentive to this process. The mere act of drawing on paper seemed to intrigue her.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"I am preparing the creation of the artefact I promised you. Don't interrupt me!"

The structure of the rite started to take shape on the paper. It was a complicated arrangement of glyphs written into commands, geometric lines describing proportions, and formulas. After making sure it all checked out, he was finally content with the result. He reached into his backpack and took out gauze bandages, a piece of wood roughly the size of his index finger, and the rest of his writing implements.

He had locked the door and drawn the curtains, but he was still nervous about anyone catching them performing a blood ritual. "Give me your hand." He told Nannade. She complied. He turned her palm upwards. "This will hurt. Try not to be too loud." He cut into her pinkie finger, she winced and had fright written all over her face as he caught the blood trickling into the inkwell. "Don't suck on the wound, just put your hand on the table, palm up."

With quite a few drops in the inkwell, he started putting the blood to paper, tracing the charcoal lines. Again, Nannade was curious about every detail of the process. From the corner of his eye he observed her ears twitch and turn towards the sound of metal scraping on paper. Her golden eyes followed the silver quill all the way along the sketched lines. The inkwell required repeated refilling, and at one point he caught her dripping two or three drops of her blood into the inkwell on her own. It took him almost as long to trace the coal lines as it had taken him to deduce and sketch them, but at last, all was prepared. He beckoned her to give him the vial dangling around her neck. He put a last drop of her blood into it and the daughter's blood joined that of the mother.

He put the vial down on a blank part in the centre the paper. "Trust me." He said, putting the piece of wood in her mouth crosswise. "Bite down. You'll need it." Then beckoned her again for her hand. He clasped her forearm tightly in his left hand. The piece of wood creaked as her jaw clenched up. "Make a fist and don't let up, no matter what." With his left thumb he looked for the gap between the tendons, then he put down the obsidian blade exactly there.

In one quick motion he pierced her skin and pulled the blade down her arm. She bit down on the piece of wood and let out a suppressed pained cry. Blood gushed from the cut. Garrett concentrated on the weavings and incantations of the spell. Rather than drip down on the table, the blood from her wound ran towards the paper, where it vanished without leaving a stain. One by one, the glyphs around the place where the vial laid, flared up and vanished with a sizzle. For a split second, Garrett allowed himself to look at the girl. Her eyes were wide open, her jaw clenched. He could feel her trying to pull her arm away from him, but her weak muscles could only struggle in vain against his iron grip.

The last glyph had vanished and he let up, the incantation was complete. He loosened his hands and reached for the bandages. Quickly he got to wrapping them around her forearm. He wasn't done with it yet before the girl let up her clenching. The piece of wood fell from her mouth, then her head fell forward and hit the table. Her body went completely limp. Garrett looked at her ears. Where he normally could see red veins shine through rosy skin, he now saw only paleness.

A realization crashed down on him like a wave of ice. The young girl, already weakened by malnourishment and parasites, had much less blood than he had, a grown man. The required amount of blood for the spell was much too great for her. His mind raced for a second, then it fixated on a specific spell. No time to write it down on paper, he had to do it all in his head. He quickly undid the bandages, put the blade to his own forearm, cut in, put his wound on hers, grasping hers by the elbow, and pressed them together fast.

His thoughts raced, formulas calculated in his head, geometries drawn with his mind and the hope that it was enough to save her.

It took a few moments as his blood flowed out of his veins, was transmuted and then flowed into her veins. The ordeal exhausted him, but after he was done, he made sure to put bandages on both of them before finally allowing himself to fall back in his chair. Darkness took him quickly.