He found her at the docks, a knife in one hand and a half gutted fish in the other, and surrounded by a flock of noisy birds. She had ignored his greetings and was non too subtle about seeing him leave.

He cleared his throat and said the only thing this woman would care about. “Karissa is alive.”

The woman went still, her face was the reflection of sadness, hope, fear, and at last anger. Her eyes flared and she spat to the side, “A ain’t got nothing but fish and worries. If yo thinking of praying on hard-working folk. A gut yo here and now.”

He smiled and held out gloved hands palms forward. “I assure you, good woman, you coin means nothing to me. I am here at the behest of another, and they will see to my compensation. What concerns me now is Karissa’s return.” He let his hands fall and stepped closer.

“Where is ma girl? Tell me where she is, please.” she pleaded, tears streaked down her sun-beaten face. She stepped from behind the cleaning table, her dark shirt and trousers smeared with grime and scales that looked like accents in the orange glow of the setting sun. “Where?” She growled as she hefted the knife poised to strike.

“Good woman, be reasonable. I am here to help.” He stepped back in hopes the fishmonger would reconsider her present course.

“Help me? Help me? And what would you want in exchange?” She came forward knife slashing as if he were a fish. It would have been comical if not for her obvious pain.

He was never in any danger. The woman had no training and he had pith. He stepped back and flung his hand out. For the briefest of moments she held the knife fast, then it was ripped away sending her off balance. She stumbled, but her time on the ocean was a boon, she caught herself and prepared for an attack that did not come.

“I am here to help. May we talk?” He asked, forcing calm into his voice.

Pith welders came in numerous varieties, the enforcers who focus that energy inward to enhance their strength, speed, and endurance. Then there were the enchanters like himself, who focused that energy outward to manipulate their surroundings. There were other disciplines, but most pith welders fell into two groups.

While he had some skills with iron and steel, he was far more capable with wooden objects, Flora to be more precise. The knife hovered between them point down, the wooden handle was more than enough to focus his energy.

She looked from the knife to her visitor and saw him anew.

He was about forty years old, same as she; but while she looked every day of her forty-two years. He could easily be mistaken for an elder son. He had a kind clean-shaven face framed by long black hair with a bit of gray. He wore a fine blue shirt, dark gray pants, and a black traveling cloak that hung to his knee. And while his garb was a touch above the common folk of northern shores of Pagez his boots probably cost three times her best year gutting fish.

“What do yo want?” She said eyes downcast.

“I told you, I want to talk.” He let the knife clatter to the dock.