When she'd at last reached the large boulders near the top of the mountain, Ciara hid herself there, below the view of the rear Spire entrance. She tried to catch her breath. Here she might be able to take in the comings and goings of the fortress, before she looked for the camp that Liv had indicated.

Skye-voice must have been pleased with our agreement? His voice in her head had vanished for now. It seemed he no longer felt the need to convince her to help him.

However, before she peeked over the rim she could already hear a surprising number of noises. New voices. They sound worried. These voices were real people and they were not in her head. What's happening there?

"I don't think he exists," Ciara could hear one of them say. "I doubt this could be true—just one creative child's invention." Ciara peeked through a crack between boulders. Are they talking about Skye-voice? She could see likely teachers in robes hurrying about. "Don't tell that to Robesaille," another one answered.

One big man—possibly Robesaille—from their reaction, was pausing to check with the others. "I want a list of the regulars and the new mentors kept separate. And—a list of all the students, broken down by their circles.

"Of course," said another who followed, then he hurried away, as a woman approached.

The big man left them and strolled toward the rim of her rock hiding place, with the woman she had seen petting the crow. The woman with her fingers clutched tight, seemed to scurry closely after the man called Robesaille. Many strange little bottles and objects poked through her hands. She stumbled, but managed not to drop a single bauble or trinket. She tried to keep up.

Even closer to Ciara, an unseen boy moaned, "It's all my fault." She drew back but repositioned her eye to see better. The boy was pacing and surveying the land in the distance, from almost directly in front of the boulders where Ciara now hid. Woah. How did I miss noticing him? She could hear the pair answer him, as they moved closer.

"Alphonse. Stop. Who else would know?" The woman tried to stuff objects into her pockets to gain some control, never taking her eyes from her fumbling act.

The boy looked a bit older than Ciara herself. He had a badly scared face and a shock of black hair that hung over one eye, with thick strands intended to hide what seemed like a burn. "You could just tell me it's nothing," he begged.

"You didn't make him vanish—" the woman absentmindedly offered, still searching for places to put things into her cloak.

A waiting silence hung in the air and the big man deep in thought asked, "Nothing what—?"

The boy held his eyes wide and tilted his head in frustration. "Oh, I really caused this. I should have let him come with me."

Without looking up, the woman asked, "What did the students know? Maybe they hid him?"

"What did you say exactly, Boy?" insisted Robesaille.

"No. Nobody knew. I hoped he'd be their new mascot—maybe—when they got used to the idea. Like Magtha's crow—" He hadn't answered.

"Dragons aren't the first choice for a pet, anymore, you know!" threw in Magtha.

"I know, but Aspher doesn't get that. This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't made him feel so unimportant."

"If this is Torgney of Trebekk, you won't gain any favour," she replied.

"Mistress, Magtha, I don't need favour. I just want Aspher back!"

Robesaille pressed his fingertips and thumbs together in front of his chest and strode back and forth, focused.

The boy followed. "He's only a baby. How could I have said that to him—? I didn't think!"

Robesaille stopped and waited for Alphonse, now peering down.

"I told him he was too white to stay safe here; and he'd get all of us noticed. But I know he just wants to learn, just like the rest of us do— I just know it. I made him hide himself, all the time. It was my fault!"

"What a mess. I wish now, that I had indeed told everyone sooner," the big man mumbled.

"Likely no way to even find him right now—" chimed in Magtha.

"Thanks! That helps—"

The crow suddenly cawed his arrival from down the slope and within a couple of powerful wing-beats landed on Magtha's shoulder, dropping a white object.

Magtha bent to pick it up. "Found one of his scales! What would that mean?"

"Ahh, well, that's helpful. It means he tried to fly from that cliff there and likely—" Robesaille cut himself off from saying too much.

"And drowned in the river, you mean? He can't even fly yet!"

"Magtha? Which way—?" Robesaille spoke gruffly.

Ciara could see the old woman didn't dare point with more than her elbow and chin, lest all her things drop to the ground, so she tried to do both. A stray puff of purple-blue smoke rose from the soil as drops of liquid from one of her vials spilled.

Ciara's mouth opened in shock. These are magicians! Where am I?

Then Robesaille addressed the boy. "Alphonse, worry not—he likely flapped his way across. And if he couldn't get back he would just holler. He is still a baby, as you described him. He'll rest. Then—he'll holler. That's my best guess—about what he would do."

"I don't think he just flew away to holler at me, if he got into trouble."

Magtha added, "In my opinion, he's likely just wandered—."

"He wandered?"

"Well he might. Could have. Dazed creatures wander."

"Dazed?"

"Magtha just wants you to feel better." The magi in robes put his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"I wish it would work."

"I know you do, Son."

≈≈≈/