After I healed completely which took longer than it was expected, roughly four weeks, I began my exercises but with weapons training and fighting. The old man said it might be earlier than he usually does this, but it is to be expected. I found out that the steward lacked any martial training, apparently, he used a blend of experience and animal like instinct to fight. It also became apparent he is one of the few people who can actually transmute while fighting. It became clear when I thought I had him swinging my dull blade for the side of torso when he swung heavily throwing his balance off keel. Instead of landing a hit, there was a mass of blob shooting out catching the blade and dragging it away from my grasp. After he pivoted and backhanded me to the ground. There I saw that one of his legs had been missing.

“That was dirty.”

“If you allow me to speak.” He paused waiting to be prompted, not like my saying no would change the outcome anyhow I nodded. “Thank you, there is no dirty fighting. What you failed to see cost you the point. If you had watched what was going on around you, it would become easily discernable that I had not stumbled by mere clumsiness. If you looked at the reason for it, you would notice I was missing a good amount of mass as it was being moved throughout my body to where your blade would ultimately strike. Dirty fighting insinuates that the technique that I implemented was underhanded and without a proper means to defend against.”

He was not going to stop; he has become more and more chatty ever since my injuries. I think it was his way of trying to do better with his explanations, leaving less to me to figure out and more to being spoon fed the information instead. I knew it was all in good intentions, but it was starting to grate on my nerves. Well, I may not be in the best headspace right now. Looking down I had a Transformed left arm. It resembled Cal’s three tentacles but modified. There were bones at the tip of them similar to the creature he had fought that day, there were also plates of bones along sides of it that had little needles to help grab with and rend flesh as needed. This little trick was an idea from the chatty box in front of me. The tentacles were nearly ten times stronger than when I first made them, they were faster and reacted to my intentions with ease. I could even dress using them now and even eat. The old man told me that I had begun forming muscle memory using this form. He had not spoken much about it yet, but we are going to have lectures about the many different types of shapes I can change into. I was excited, and the-.

“Are you listening?” This pulled me out of my thoughts, what was the last thing he said again? Thinking about it he was talking about awareness. Again.

“Of course, you are a fountain of knowledge. Every moment I listen I am just soaking it up like a tree does for the sunlight.” A little much, I acknowledged, but I kept a straight face. Commit, that is what the old man preaches, or was it the steward? Nonetheless I was keeping a straight face. He did not look amused.

“If you allow it, let us do another round.” Nope, by his stance he looked more serious than the last round. He was not amused at all.

Getting back to the Wayward’s hideout, yes, I had found out it was actually a hideout. Turns out it was not just a classy home under the earth. Not that it was classy either, I chuckled then winced in pain. Rubbing the newly forming bruise on my hip I looked up at the steward smiling at himself. He took pleasure, that bastard. I had been working on martial training for a couple months now. Halfway through my training, or is it over halfway? Losing track of time, I am having a hard time telling the dates let alone the month. All I know outside it is cold now, I get laughed at when I complain about it because they say something that the south has no cold in it or something. The old man told me frozen water falling from the sky is what is cold, not what we have here. Apparently, our coldest months are the warmest in many areas. I got to look at a map once, but instantly lost interest. Why need a map? It does not look like it is useful with the way they are drawn. They were horribly scribbled, and it just shows impassible terrain everywhere. Which again I was laughed at and told I just had not understood how to read it yet.

One thing has been bugging me however, we have not tested my limit since I came to the edge of madness. I was told we would, so we knew where to work from but never had. Instead, I was slowly adapting more and more changes over time. Looking down at my hand I had just restored before returning back at the hideout I lost the fuzziness in my head that I had grown to call the ‘Blanket of Madness’. The old man liked the term and said he would start using it. He said there wasn’t not much of a term for it before just calling it fogginess. After living with them for some time now, I felt like I was having a family again. I missed it, I think about my brother less and less now, but my feelings have not changed. The more I am learning the more I accept that he was prepared and if he received the same training as I had, no student of the old man would take unnecessary risk for fear of getting on his bad side. Only twice now has he lost his temper with me, and like he had once said, “I only get angry when you make the same mistake”. It was true, and we'll let us say that I will avoid it at all costs. I still shivered thinking about those restless nights. I learned what a Deadman’s Cry was. Putting it from my memory I walked into the dining room.

“How was it?” Think about the Twisted and they appear. The old man was in his usual seat waiting for us to come in. He was still very patient overall, but the more time passes I can see it wain. I think he was feeling the itch to go after my brother. I would occasionally see him staring at the boundary but when prompted he would talk about the weather. Why do all old men do that?

“She is learning quickly.” I felt proud from being praised by the steward. He rarely gives compliments without a-, “However, she still needs to stay focused and stay aware of not only her surroundings but her opponent.” Ahh, there it was.

“She ready?” The old man eyed me skeptically. Ready for what? I did not want to speak out of turn, I have been learning that I tend to speak and ruin things, so I kept my mouth shut.

“Adequate.” Was the only response, I will take it?

Nodding the long hair of the old man snapped upwards as he rose. Striding over he looked at my arm to look for signs of any screwup on my part.

“We shall make a trip out at night beyond the boundary. Just you and me.”

My stomach knotted up, how far? What happens if we come across a Twisted? Creatures that use the power were easier to deal with, but a Twisted especially with intelligence is one wrought with magic. No, the old man will be there, and I am stronger. I did not want to go, but I also did. Why could I not have mixed feelings about everything? “Yes, Wayward Jorgonzilrye.” I began calling him that soon after my injuries occurred, having adopted that a Wayward was more important than a Councilman as the steward had. Partially because a Councilman couldn’t save my life like a Wayward can out beyond the boundary. Also, he was out of retirement, so it was not incorrect. “How long will this be do you think?”

“We are traveling to a village a couple week away. It is about time you learn how small your world really was.”