Xaxac held his breath.

What should he do?

Should he go home?

Should he stay where he was?

Then something strange happened. Lorsan narrowed his eyes, tilted his head, as if he was trying to hear something, or perhaps as if he had felt something.

“What the hell?” Lorsan asked.

Then he turned, and Xaxac dove for the floor as silently as he could.

He covered his head with his hands, held his breath, and listened.

He heard Lorsan dismount.

He took one step toward the door, then another, and time seemed to slow down.

Xaxac jumped to his feet, bolted for the back window, and dove out in one motion, so fast and with so much gusto he hit the ground rolling. He crouched and backed up until he was positioned just under the window.

Lorsan was inside the house now, walking around. Xaxac heard him moving, back and forth as if he was looking for something, and he paused, on the side of the room where the bed was, and let out a humming noise.

He had noticed someone had set the bed to rights. He was distracted. His attention had been taken, and Xaxac had no idea how long that would last.

So he took the opportunity he had been given- and he bolted.

Night had fully fallen, and he prayed he was hidden in the shadows, prayed the moons, which had always hated him, would not illuminate him as he ran with everything in him, so far and so fast he forgot to breath and his lungs began to ache. His mind was only able to form one thought: he had to beat Lorsan back to the house. He bolted through the open kitchen door and sped for the storeroom.

The kitchen was full. He knew he had been seen. But there was nothing for it. He had to be fast, and he had to pray that he could depend on the kindness of relative strangers. Maybe, just maybe, Mrs OfAgalon hadn’t been in the kitchen. Maybe the people who were in the kitchen had a fondness for his mother.

Maybe he could get lucky.

Xaxac burst up three flights of stairs more climbing than running, and emerged in his most familiar hallway.

He closed the door softly, darted to the door of the sitting room, threw it open and slammed it behind him as he ran for the bedroom.

He glanced in the mirror, saw the dirt on his uniform, and tugged it off as quickly as he could, turning each item inside out and wadding them up. He kicked off his shoes, wadded the shirt into the pants, then, in a moment of panic, stuffed the bundle under the bed. He went to the basin, splashed water on his face, then dried his entire body with the towel there to remove the sweat.

He threw open the wardrobe and grabbed a new outfit, the tight one that looked very much like the one Alex had traveled in, except it was green rather than blue, and stepped into the water closet.

Lorsan did not appear.

It occurred to Xaxac as he stood, fully dressed in the water closet, listening to the seconds tick by, that he may have gotten away with it.

He slowly emerged from the water closet, knelt, and pulled the bundle of dirty clothes out of the hiding spot he had put them in.

What could he do with them, realistically?

Hide them in plain sight.

He kept them inside out, but folded them neatly and put them into a corner of the wardrobe, closed it, and strode confidently into the sitting room.

He dug through the box of root vegetables until he found a carrot, then took it to the water closet to pump some water and wash off the dirt.

He plopped down on the couch, bit into his carrot, and stared at the clock on the mantle.

He wondered who was working in the kitchen.

He wondered where everyone was.

He wondered what Lorsan wanted with Hattie May.

He wondered what would happen to him if Lorsan found out he had left the house.

He ate all of the carrot, even the greens, before he knelt before the fireplace and laid out the wood in a conical shape. Then he took the flint, steel, and charcloth, and stuck it until he got a spark. He held the charcloth, blowing to keep the flame alive, while he picked up a clutch of kindling and stuffed it inside. He blew on it until this, too, caught, and once the flames were going he stuck it into the middle of the cone, and watched the fire blaze to life.

He had washed some sweet potatoes and laid them out by the fire to roast, and was on the last row of his knitting, casting off, when he heard Lorsan in the hallway.

Xaxac looked up when he walked inside and smiled.

“Hey, Lorry,” he said.

“Hey, Xac,” Lorsan said, and he did not smile back, “I need a drink.”

“I’m always up for that,” Xaxac said chipperly.

“Whatcha makin?” Lorsan asked, “Sweet taters? I’ll get some brown sugar while I’m down there.”

“Neat,” Xac said.

And he was gone.

Xaxac began to hum as he moved each new stitch from the needles. He picked up the skein he was working with and shoved the whole thing through the last stitch, then again in the new loop he had created, and pulled tight. He held the yarn tight, brought it to his mouth, and bit through it where it met the knot, then tossed the skien into the bag with the needles.

He fluffed the blanket out and held it in front of him.

It was beautiful, soft, and big enough to swaddle with.

Alice was going to love it, as much as she could love anything with those mood swings.

The door opened and Lorsan walked back in carrying a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a small canister of sugar, all of which he sat on the coffee table before he plopped down next to Xaxac.

“That’s pretty,” he said.

“Thanks!” Xac agreed, “It is. It’s real nice. She’s gonna love it! I still… kinda can’t believe Aggie’s gonna let me give it to her. This yarn was expensive… I think he’s only lettin me give it to Alley because he knows it’ll make me happy. He loves me.”

“Yeah,” Lorsan said in a tone that made Xaxac nervous because he could not judge the sincerity of it.

Lorsan pulled the cork from the bottle and poured them both a glass.

“I shoulda got more than this,” He said, “I wonder if Nancy’d even do it, if I rung for her.”

“She has to,” Xaxac said as he fluffed out the blanket and began to fold it, “You’re an elf.”

“You’re right,” Lorsan said, in that same tone. He seemed as if he was deep in thought, and once again Xaxac wondered why he had wanted to talk to Hattie May.

Xaxac stuck the blanket into the bag with his knitting supplies and leaned forward to pick up his glass.

“You don’t know nothin about magic, do you?” Lorsan asked. Xac shook his head, so he continued, “Ok so… everything that lives has a… a heart? No, I guess they don’t, not all of um… but magic is… there’s this sayin, ‘Magic travels through the blood’.”

“Neat,” Xac said, leaned back, and sipped his wine.

“So every living thing has magic,” Lorsan explained, “That’s what makes it alive. That’s what makes it different from like… stuff you make.”

“Ok,” Xaxac said, because he wasn’t particularly shocked that nothing Lorsan said made sense to him, but it seemed important to him, so he was willing to let him talk.

“In people and most animals,” Lorsan continued, “That’s true. It’s in the blood. And you can see it, in the heart. Everybody has a… like a soul. And mages are trained to look for it. We can see it.”

“You can see my soul?” Xaxac asked.

“Yeah, we call um ‘magic signatures’ but yeah, I can,” Lorsan explained. “That’s how scryin works. When you cast a spell, you don’t cast it in the pattern of your soul, you cast it in the pattern of their soul, and they’ll feel it.”

“That’s sweet,” Xaxac said, “I like that.”

“The world of magic is kinda… on top of this one, the physical world,” Lorsan continued, “So you can see through it, around it, kinda. I mean, it depends on how strong you are. Some folks can see through solid stone, some can’t, you get me?”

“I guess,” Xaxac said and took another drink, “can we get more’a this? You’re right. We’ll run out.”

“I can see magic through flimsy walls made’a scrap wood, Xac,” Lorsan said, and Xaxac, in that moment, felt very stupid. He felt as if he should have been able to trace the conversation.

“Your daddy told me that a skilled mage could cast for miles,” Xaxac said conversationally, “Can uh… can they see folks for miles, too?”

“Not… I mean you see magic signatures with your eyes but… I mean technically you could, but we ain’t supposed to and ain’t nobody who’ll teach you how to do that, but let’s not bullshit, alright? I want you to know that I know you was outside.”

Xaxac took another drink of his wine watching Lorsan over the edge of his glass. He looked nervous, which was not the emotion Xaxac had expected. He didn’t look angry, at all.

“What, um,” Xac asked, “Whatcha… gonna do to me, Lorry?”

He did not think he could control Lorsan, wouldn’t have been able to influence his actions in any meaningful way, so he didn’t try.

“Nothin,” Lorsan said, “I ain’t gonna tell nobody. I ain’t gonna do nothin. But… I’m curious. Why was you out there, Xac?”

“I wanted to see my daddy,” Xaxac shrugged. He had no reason to lie. “Half my family’s gone, Aggie’s gone. I’m lonesome.”

“I’d think you stay lonesome,” Lorsan said.

“Yeah… I… I try not to think too much,” Xaxac finished his glass, picked up the bottle and refilled it, “I try not to think at all, if I can help it.”

“Did you see him?” Lorsan asked.

“No, wouldn’t nobody in the house and I didn’t wanna go outside. Not just on account of I might get caught but ‘cause… you know,” he shrugged again, “I’m a monster. I ain’t been around nobody since they found that out.”

“Humans are social animals,” Lorsan said, “So are rabbits.”

“Yeah?” Xac asked.

“You don’t know?” Lorsan asked.

“I don’t know a lot about rabbits,” Xaxac admitted, “I ain’t never raised um or nothin.”

“Oh,” Lorsan said, “Um… ok, let me go ring Nacy and see if she’ll bring us another bottle and then uh… how about I read to you? We got books about rabbits.”

“Yeah!” Xac said, “I’d like that. I’d… really appreciate it. Lorry um… why… I mean, I appreciate it, but why have you been so nice to me?”

“I like you,” Lorsan said as he stood, “I like humans.”