-Are you all right? – She asked, leaning down to his height, her hands behind her back.

-I’m fine. – Tristan replied, smearing the dirt on his face as he tried to wipe off the tears and hide that he was crying.

-What happened?

After thinking for a bit, he replied with a bit of satisfaction in his voice – I protected an innocent today.

The girl smiled. – Looks like you’ll have to be a bit more careful how you go about it in the future, or someone else is gonna have to protect you.

-I guess that’s true. My ability to handle myself leaves something to be desired. – The boy shrugged. – That’s why I have the best teachers in Fanelia!

-Oh, the best?

-The very best! That’s what my father always says anyway.

-I’m sure they are. – The girl’s tone was condescending, and irritated young Tristan.

-You don’t believe me? I was on my way… Well, I should have been on my way to one of them right now. He’s probably wondering where I am. – Tristan stared at the floor for a moment, wrapped in his thoughts – Would you like to come with me?

-You know, you talk funny. Why do you talk like that?

-Like what? – Tristan was perplexed.

-Like… I don’t know, like an old mage or something.

-Oh my… you juggle knives, and you’ve met a mage? You’re one strange girl, aren’t you?

--Although Tristan meant it as a compliment, the girl’s face revealed the comment displeased her.

-I do what I have to, to make ends meet. A deft hand can earn the same coin in a short span of time, as a day of hard labor. It took some cuts before I could get the hang of it, but now I do have the rest of the day to do as I please.

-Then please your way with me to my teacher. – Tristan said, smiling. – He’s awesome! I’m sure you won’t regret it.

-Well… I say “as I please”, but in truth, I have… other things to tend to as well.

--She hesitated as she looked for the words. She was worried Tristan would pry further, but he was much too enthused with his own ideas.

-It’s ok, my teacher doesn’t live far from here.

***

--After about an hour had passed, and they were well within the forest north of Portsmouth, it became painfully obvious that Tristan had lied. The knife juggler, Isla, was now very much regretting her choice of giving in to his persistent and annoying pleas. She did not really know why, but she trusted him. What bothered her was that she was probably about to use up more time than she could afford. Just going back to the city at this point would mean she barely had the time to complete her chores for the day. However, she felt invested, and her curiosity would not let her go back anymore. While it seemed Tristan was treading a trail he knows well, the earthen path was thin and overgrown. Without his guidance, it seemed almost impossible to know it was even there. Finally, their path led them into a small glade. A clear stream was murmuring on the opposite side of it, and at its center was a jumbled up mass of muddy clay and straw, which one might dare to call a hut.

--Tristan brought up his hands to his mouth and started producing bird noises of some sort. After some silence, a brief response was heard, seemingly originating from within the hut. Tristan gave another, altered reply, and the hut door swung open. A huge figure emerged from within, easily 2 meters in height, and about half that in width. It was an older, bearded man with long, tangled hair, wrapped in furs. His eyes glinted darkly beneath their bushy brows, and his moustache curved into a parabola to reveal a hearty, toothed smile.

-Tristan, my boy! – His gravelly voice boomed. – I knew I was forgetting something. You were supposed to be here hours ago, weren’t you?

--Tristan ran up to him to engage in a convoluted, secret handshake, and for a few moments they seemed to have forgotten about their guest. Once the handshake was finally done, the man got down to his knee. This was possibly done to seem less threatening, but he was still towering above the kids, and the handle of a two-hander extending from behind his back did not help things. Isla felt weary of him.

-You sly dog you… Did you make a friend today? – The man asked in an inappropriate tone, smiling as he sized up the girl.

-Yes. – Tristan walked over to her. – Master Grif, I’d like you to meet my new friend, Isla.

-Friend is a bit of a strong word, – Isla defended herself awkwardly – but I am pleased to meet you, Master Grif.

--She walked up and held out her hand instinctively. As Grif's large paw gripped her hand, fear passed behind her like a ghost, and she regretted offering if. Her trepidation quickly subsided, as he released it, but the moment of the greet itself seemed unpleasantly extended in her mind.

-Your hands… They are not as delicate as one might expect of a lass at such a tender age. What’s more, they bear scars made by blades.

--Hearing this, Isla started inspecting her own hands, as if they were foreign.

-Is it really so strange for a peasant-girl’s hands to be rough from labour? – She heard disappointment in her own voice, not knowing whence it came from.

-You misunderstand, little mushroom. I am impressed!

--The apparent enthusiasm in Master Grif's voice brought up her spirits as she looked him in the eye. Tristan was somewhat confused, as he tried to keep up with this exchange.

-A man’s, – Grif continued – or a woman’s hands in this case, can tell you much about that person. I can see by your hands that you carry a much heavier burden than that which is usually expected of a lass your age. I can see that you are the one taking care of someone, or perhaps even several others, rather than being the one who is taken care of. And furthermore, I would wager that your hands have held a blade. I’d wager you have one in that purse of yours, and perhaps you’re rather handy with it.

--He paused, a suspicion shimmering in his eye, as it glossed over the healing cuts on the girl’s hands, from which he made this deduction.

-You wouldn’t have happened to point it at others though… have you? – Grif's suspicion had bounced around the inside of his head and leaped out through the gate on his face.

-No! – The girl protested, vexed. – I would sooner cause harm to myself than to another.

--A peculiar response indeed, Tristan thought. Just before he had met her, he had seen a much older man inflict pain upon someone weaker than himself, and seemingly with no real cause. And yet, here was a girl with less than a third of his life time, claiming that she would find pain less unnerving, than infliction. The thought of this made his youthful and idealistic mind tear up. He fought the sensation, as he did not want Isla to see him cry.

-My! – Grif exclaimed – You’re something else, little girl. As noble as a petite princess.

-Oh please. Now you’re just trying to get under my skin. – Isla’s tone and eyes showed irritability, but her face was blushing as she tried to hide her smile.

-Oh, but I mean it! – Grif said. – Not everyone is fit for royalty. Even if they were born into it! Take Tristan here, much as he was born to be a prince, he hardly has the wit and the constitution for it. I do my best to toughen him up, but…

--Grif's words faded in Isla’s mind. He boomed on with a somewhat proud note, as Tristan sulked more and more. But in Isla’s mind, one word kept resonating, muffling the rest of Master Grif's story. This word, it became deafening in her mind’s ear.

-A WHAT!? – She meant to ask, but the words came out as a shout.

-…And then the bears rolled over! – Grif Kaedah's story concluded, but Isla had no idea how he got there.

-Well, Tristan here is a prince. – Grif spoke as if talking about the boy’s hair colour. – Didn’t he introduce himself?

-Teacher please! That was quite enough. You don’t have to scare away everyone I try to make friends with.

--Tristan protested in his usual tone, which was much too serious and eloquent for his age. This tone suddenly made a lot of sense to Isla. At this point, it was clear to her that her afternoon had taken a most unusual turn. A fated turn which was going to shape the rest of her life beyond her wildest dreams.