Letters from Emelan Written by Sorka Robinton

1. Briar’s Room "Really," the twelve year old said, his heavy shoes making the hall echo with clumping, "I feel funny being here, in a fancy kind of place like this." "Why?" Sandry said, candid as ever. "It's just a room." "Yeah, but-" Briar made an expressive arm movement that took in the entire stone hallway- "it's fancy compared to Discipline." The heavily embroidered tapestries, glamorous with their gold-threaded surfaces, covered the grey stone walls that were the former trademarks of the plain Duke's castle. "Which is," she remarked dryly, "under construction after your latest experiment." He held up his hands in apology. "Didn't know that it would grow that way! It was a ficus tree, for gods' sake." Sandry's bright blue eyes glowed with facination, remembering the mess of twigs and leaves, the litter of bark and roots through the window. "It tore open the roof. That was an amazing experiment. That fertilizer must have had some potent materials in it, because..." "Rosethorn didn't think so." An image flashed through his mind, of the short Dedicate screaming and jumping as her magic flowed through the poor ficus tree and it retracted into its old pot. And her forefinger and thumb on his ear. "Ah, well." Sandry's light voice blithely dismissed the greatest source of anger in the world. "She's at the Earth temple now, finding a new and sophisticated way to collect samples from infected patients. Lark's here too, but in one of the weaving rooms. Daja is being a hermit at the forge, as usual, and Tris is...where is Tris? Where is she going again?" I'm with Niko, and still on a horse, to Gods' know where. I think it's a city a few score miles away, but with Niko, who can tell? Tris' voice rang through their heads, sounding extremely irritated. It's smelly and dark, and Niko insists that the inn is "just around the corner. He has said that seven times. Oh, damn! He just said it again! Um, okay, Sandry replied. Sorry to hear that. Hope the next dirty, stinky, muddy road that Niko chooses will be the right one, Coppercurls. Tris slammed her magic down in front of her mindlink, the sound sending ringing noises through both of their ears. "Ouch." They were almost at the right hall. "Okay, Briar. Choose a room." Sandry gestured to the line of guest rooms. The former street-thief's eyes widened at the row of ornately furnished rooms, each decorated in brocades and silks. "How...? I thought you said your ol' Uncle had bland tastes, despite all them tapestries out there." "Well, Lark told the doctors that perhaps colors would brighten up Uncle's life, and health charms are woven into most of the tapestries..." Sandry rolled her eyes. "So in addition to the charmed weavings, he redecorated. Each room shares a bathroom in white, and the rooms are each a different color." Pointing to the first room on the left, she said, "This one's mine, for now." He looked in and made a face. "You chose yellow. Are they all different?" Grinning, she nodded. "And its not yellow, it's-" she altered her voice to be snobby and aristocratic, like the expensive hired decorator's- "honey, with warm golden highlights." "All right, that guy has a twisted little mind," Briar said dubiously. He had met the man once, with his strange curling mustache and artistic airs. "He was a cracked nut." Opening the first door after Sandry's, he didn't even look inside. "This one will be mine until Discipline unfloods." "What?!" she shrieked. "Unfloods?" "Oops, never mind." Walking directly into the room, he sighed with inner bliss. All green, like plants. That was kind of nice, like being in a forest, but without dirt and bugs. "Green. Good," he said blandly. Sandry giggled, twisting her long braid in both hands. "That's the washroom we share, don't open the door if i'm in there," she said, pointing. "I'll be very mad." "All right, rules and regs over," he groaned. "I'm tired, gonna sleep now. Was up til four trying to get the water out." "You are going to tell me about the flooding, right?" she asked. "Later, so you won't be mad...kay?" ~~~~~~~~~~~` Despite the comfortable softness of the feather mattress and silken quilts, Briar tossed and turned for hours before dropping into an uneasy sleep. He was walking through Discipline, unflooded and un-ficused, he noticed. His feet were bare, as it was in all of his dreams, yet his shirt sleeves were uncut and perfectly clean, an unusual circumstance. "Hello?" he called. Even the kitchen was empty of Lark, and the workrooms bare of life. He trotted outside. "Little Bear? Sandry?" Girlish giggling, though it sounded like Daja's voice. Strange. Briar groaned, staring up at the roof. The three girls stood on the crisp thatch, laughing down at him. "Where did you go?" Sandry said, holding a ball of pure white yarn in her right hand. "Here, hold on to this." She tossed down the free end of the cord, its end landing directly in the center of his palm. Grabbing the yarn, the world suddenly spun wildly, until he no longer knew which way was up and which was down. Discipline disappeared, and he was falling through blackness, its pressing darkness only cut by Sandry's gleaming white yarn. It grew taut, and her voice screamed, "Hang on, Briar! Don't you dare let go!" He clutched at the string as he landed with a thump to the cobblestones. The road of death, he remembered. The dull grey stones devoid of life..."No!" he cried, "Not here!" The three girls shouted, and the yarn began to tremble. Someone crumpled to the ground next to him. The tanned skin, slightly messy hair of Flick, his friend! Turning her over, Briar shook her shoulders but her head simply rolled limply. But wait...it wasn't Flick's still form in his hands, it was Sandry, her light brown braids tangling his hands, blue eyes closed. He yelled, and the yarn spun in a circle around them both, causing their bodies to fly through the air straight towards the stone wall... And he hit the floor with a thump. After a moment, Sandry carefully opened the door, trusty rock in hand. "All okay?" she said quietly. He nodded, shaken yet. Hey, at least she wasn't dead, right? He had bad dreams before, why was he being such a ...a chuffle about this? "Want to share?" Her voice was noncommital, offering him either option with no consequences. Briar watched her through heavy eyelids, before shaking his head slowly. He'd tell her later, he decided, after a brief moment of introspection. She smiled, carefully, because he figured he still looked sort of frazzled. "I'll just sit here for a while, then go back. All right?" Sandry said, placing her rock on the green quilt. He nodded, still rather speechless. Well, she ain't dead, he reminded himself, so he lay back on the soft pillows and tried to doze. Of course, it didn't work. He simply could not get the image out of his mind. Briar knew how dead bodies lay like empty pieces of matter, because of Flick and his friend Rat from so many years ago. But he never expected to see any of the Circle that way, least of all his glorious Lady Sandrilene. His?! I must be sleepy, it's affecting my brain, he decided, shutting his mind off with determination. As if not thinking is a good thing. Niko would slaughter me. So he lay there, watching through nearly-closed eyelids as Sandry slowly began to slump over with sleep, curling up near the foot of the canopied bed, hand loosely wrapped around the glowing clear rock. Not dead, he reminded himself. ~~~~~~~~~ 2. Goodbye ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Sandry, almost fourteen years old "Are you sure you're going to leave?" Sandry wailed. Tris shrugged, looking away. "I'm pretty sure," she said shortly, pushing her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. Daja grimaced, fingers probing the blisters on her right palm. The boy in the shadows, curled in a large chair, let out a loud sigh. "I wonder what they have in store for us," he grumbled. "Torture, most likely." The trader girl grinned. "Only torture for you, if Rosethorn catches you cutting up capers. And you will, boy." "Oh, be quiet, trangshi." "This is terrible!" Sandry cried aloud. "I'm going to be the only one left here...doing nothing!" "Not nothing," Tris said. "You get to stay with your Uncle, right? And Lark, and Rosethorn, and everyone..." She sniffed. Sandry managed a teary smile. "Well, for at least tonight," she said with a sigh, "You'll be staying at the finest establishment in Emelan!" Daja groaned, throwing a small pillow at her friend. "You mean we're staying in the most colorful place in Emelan," Daja moaned. "It's like a Nemornese rainbow quilt." Sandry laughed. ~~~~~~~~` The last hours were unbearable, almost. The dinner they sat through, food as stiff as cardboard in their mouths, went too quickly for words, though they each sat as quietly as mice. The circle split up after that, shortly, each taking their bundles to three different carriages. Tris snuffled, eyes red and puffy; Daja's hands twisted their mate to near-strangulation, Briar bit his lip hard, and Sandry wrung her braid in both hands. Niko cleared his throat. "Well,..." They looked up. "It's time, all of you." "When will we all visit again, together?" Sandry asked, forlorn. "All of us?" He cleared his throat. "It depends, you know. If there are vacation times granted by all teachers, the weather clears up..." His eyebrows snapped together suddenly with a thought. "Tris, don't interfere with it." She made a small protesting sound. "But some of you might meet up someplace." "Will we be able to talk to each other, you know, with the mind thing?" Briar said quietly, too softly for his usual personality. "If we're so far away?" "I don't know." Tris' wagon left first, and each of the Circle gave her a tentative hug as she bundled into the back of the empty cart. "Bye," she said gruffly, but sobbed into her hankerchief as the carriage rolled down the dirt road and away from her only friends. Throwing her staff into the wagon, Daja remarked, "I don't want to be the last," and hugged her friends again before jumping into the empty seat in the front. "And I know I don't want to ride in the back." Her driver chuckled, handing her an oiled robe as drops began to patter down from the grey sky. "And Tris isn't here to make it all go away," Briar mumbled. "I think it's raining because she's crying," Sandry offered, feeling teary herself. "And she cut us off from mindspeech again," she said sadly, her magic feeling the iron solidness of the sparkling blue barrier. "Bye, Daja!" Sandry called, waving wildly in the rain, not even caring that her pretty pink dress was becoming soaked, or that it was freezing. The trader waved back, pinching her arm fiercely though her eyes still watered against her will. Briar sighed. "Now I gotta go, too." Sandry let out a little moan, dress plastered down by the downpour. "This is awful." "I know!" she wailed. "We're all seperated! When are we going to see each other again?" She hugged him tightly for an instant, before drawing away and sniffing into her kerchief. "I don't know," he said sadly. To his dismay, he sniffed a few times, blinking hard. Sandry smiled a weepy grin and found a lace-hemmed hankerchief, spelled to stay clean. Wiping his face, as no one had done since...well, no one had ever done, she grinned at his halfhearted glare. "Don't move," she said. "I might poke you in the eye," she teased, before bursting into tears and flinging herself at his neck and kissing him once, on the lips. Eyes clouding over, he realized with a start that he couldn't think correctly when she did that. He didn't actually mind affection, but he did mind the 'strangeness' of being so close, which had been bothering him for several months now. He didn't like any weirdness that he couldn't control. Did friends kiss each other goodbye? He was actually considering meeting her halfway in this, but she had already pulled away, and was crying her eyes out, so he couldn't think about it anymore. Hugging her one more time, gingerly because she was sobbing, he hopped into his cart and disappeared down the road. Sandry trudged in, abandoned. "Uncle?" she called softly. He opened the door to his study and smiled his most reassuring smile as she stepped inside, desolate. ~~~~~~~~ 3. THE LETTERS, CROSSOUTS AND DREAMS ~~~~~~~~~~ Briar, fourteen years old Dear Briar, How are you? I miss you all already, and it's only been three short weeks since your first letter. What is it like in that city? I know you refused to tell me in your letter, but I really want to know! Uncle's doing better, Briar, but I was so worried. His lips turned blue, and Moonstream nearly ripped a handful of hair out of her head in frustration. And she's such an experienced healer! He works too hard, and I've moved permanently to Emelan from Discipline to keep an eye on him. Did you know he worked 15 hour days? No wonder he got a heart attack. But I remembered what you did to Rosethorn, and tied him into his body with thread magic. I think it worked, for now, though the nurses were angry when I demanded to be admitted to his room. It's rather embarrassing. Do you think this is a "breakthrough" in medicine, or just something that healers already use? I mean, we've done it twice, and though it's draining...it worked. Wouldn't it be wonderful if our Circle had discovered this useful thing? Actually, I rather doubt that. Tris wrote from her location, unfortunately a "hole in the wall" rented room, as she put it. Daja's was nicer, at least. Did they describe it to you, or did they spare your tender soul and not elaborate on settings? I watered your shakkan, Briar. I hope it doesn't mind being away from you too much. It seems sad, but its not drooping at least. And also, I, as unofficial hostess of Emelan, am refusing for anyone to use the green, grey, and orange rooms so they're the Circle's until you all come back. I don't want anyone else's stinky presence there instead of yours. And I don't want to share a washroom...just kidding. No guests come here often, and most don't wish to choose rooms that view the gardens. Most want the vast "mysterious harbor, with it's sapphire waters and picturesque boats." Oh, it's so lonely here! It seems so quiet without Tris' thunderstorms, Daja stumbling in covered with soot, and your plants erupting right and left. I watered your shakkan, so you don't have to worry. I put plenty of potted plants around it, like you said, so perhaps it won't be so lonely. I miss you all, and I hope you can come back soon! Much love, Sandry He smiled, holding the pale green stationary in his hand. Too bad the mail took so long to send, two months each way. He wished they could mindspeak instead. Six months, and only two letters, one from her and one from him. He missed them all so badly, especially Sandry in a way. Did they discover something new? Doubt it, he told himself. He was such a bleater to even consider it. A small bundle fell out of the envelope, tumbling to the floor. He picked it up. It was a green cloth, woven finely out of silk threads, like a scarf, with embroidered briars and blooming scarlet roses. It was only a hands length long and wide, but it lay warmly between his palms. "That's pretty," he said aloud. He read the letter again. "Much love?" He wondered a bit, but decided it was nothing, though his cheeks warmed with the thought. "Nah, couldn't be," he told himself, though in a strange way, he wanted it so. The son of the owner of the building, his age, danced into the room. "Hey, Briar!" Zak yelled. "What's happening, street boy?" Grabbing the letter, his blue eyes (lighter than Sandry's, Briar noticed) scanned the page quickly. "This from your girlfriend?" "No," he replied with a cuff to his friend's head, "It's from my friend who's a girl." "Isn't it the same thing?" Zak teased, his constantly mussed hair nearly glowing in the lamplight. The dim light made his broken nose, crookedly set, seem even more strangely shadowed. "Naw, just my ol' mate, Sandry." "Mate? And look here, Moss, she wrote 'love.' " He should have learned his lesson with stuffy old Crane. "Mate as in friend," he said patiently, "And girls are weird like that all the time. Besides, she's a noble," he suggested, though he knew his cheeks burned. "Yeah, well, still. Shut up and come down to dinner. Ma says the stew is ready." Briar wrapped the bit of green scarf in his hankerchief (well, Sandry's, because he didn't own any other) and stuffed it hastily in his pocket before following Zak. ~~~~~~~~ He sat at his desk, a dented piece of wood carved into the shape of a table, holding the quill in his right hand. "What do I write?" The bit of scarf fluttered back at him, the glossy roses shining in the lamplight. "Ah, well." Biting his lip, he tried to remember everything his teachers had taught him about writing. Hey Sandry, How is it over there in ol' Emelan? How's Lark and Rosethorn, and Little Bear? Well, the city's not as bad as everyone said. It's grey, and rainy, but my room ain't sounding as bad as Tris'. I rent a room from this family, one of their boarders, and they have a son named Zak my age. It's not the same as annoying you and Daja, but it's a tolerable substitute. He's blue eyed like you, and shorter than me. Maybe even shorter than Tris. I miss that little tree, too. But I think Rosethorn was right when she said the weather here wasn't too good for it. The moisture would make it turn brownish. How is your Uncle? I hope his heart is getting better, and that them who look after him take care of him good. I heard from Niko about that tapestry incident, good for you. Those dung beetles should have let you into the room anyway, serves them right to be cocooned. Rosethorn mentioned that the thing we did might not work all the time, only to them who we're connected to, either magically or mentally. I don't know, maybe we did find something, maybe not. I think we should talk about it when we meet again, though when thats gonna be who knows. I miss you guys too, maybe sometime Niko will let us come back. Briar paused. "What do I sign this with?" he asked himself, quietly, so that Zak wouldn't hear and burst in. Hmm. 'Love' was out of the question, wasn't it? 'Gods Bless'? He wasn't that religious, at least not the kind to spout 'gods' over and over again. Sincerely? He couldn't figure how to spell the last one. He wrote "love" once, but scratched it out. XlXoXvXeX Bye, Briar. It looked awful, but there were blotches on the paper anyway, so he simply dismissed the crossout. He almost sealed the envelope, but paused. Should he put something in it? She gave him that pretty green thing. Picking it up once more, the silk tickled his fingers. Then the sensation of being close to her again, which he quickly cut off before he went crazy at himself for being such a chuffle. What did he have to give her? Picking a sprig each of lavender, fern, miniature rose, and the deep blue faerie's eyes (his personal favorite) from his window plant collection, he quickly slammed it between the pages of a heavy book. Sufficiently flattened, he placed the small arrangement gently in the letter and waxed the envelope shut. Hopefully, the flowers wouldn't be messed up too badly in the long process of the mailing system. He sighed. It would be months, perhaps, before the letter reached Sandry, and months before he might get a reply. And he really did miss her, especially when those strange dreams came back. The color of the yarn changed at will, and Sandry didn't always die, but usually she ran away or fell or screamed or something bad, and it would have been so reassuring for her to be in the next room. ~~~~~~~~~~ He tossed and turned. "Stop!" he cried out, voice echoing through the mazework of the grey stones. "Why won't you wait?" She turned to look at him, braids flying. "I can't! You have to catch up to me, or I can't tell you the secret!" "What?" He sprinted faster and faster, but the noble kept several feet ahead. Tris threw him a bit of wind to fly on, and he grasped her by the wrist. A part of his mind, not asleep, rejoiced that he had finally caught up to her. "What is the big secret?" Sandry squirmed, braids momentarily vines, but they disappered quickly. "Oh, fine. I have to tell you then." Leaning over, she kissed him on the lips playfully while his dream-body stood in shock. "That was my secret," she told him, before ducking out of his grasp and- He sat up in bed. "What was that?" Briar rolled over and wriggled under the covers again, but his eyes remained open and questioning for the rest of the night. "What is wrong with me?" ~~~~~~~~~ 4. MISSING YOU ~~~~~~~~~Sandry, fourteen Sandry smiled down at the small sprig of flowers. Breathing in deeply, she inhaled the clean scent of green growing things, though the flowers were pressed and obviously old. "Pretty," she commented aloud, her forefinger brushing the tip of the tiny blue blossoms. The dried petals crackled slightly, and she traced his clumsy signature with her thumb. "They're called faerie's eyes," Pasco said over her shoulder. Sandry jumped, before glaring at the boy. "What, just saying," he told her defensively. She sighed, counting to ten. And how did he always manage to get into her room? Last she had seen of him, he was with Yazmin in her Uncle's study, three halls away. "Faerie's eyes?" "The white blot in the middle and the blue petals. Mama used to grow them, until my brother accidentally broke the pot. They died," he explained. Jumping around the room, he asked, "Is that from your friends?" "Yeah, Briar, the street boy," she told him, already expecting the slight glower the provost-bred mage would give her. "Far away," she sighed. "It's been eight months or so since we last met, and letters send slowly." "That's sad." "Shouldn't you be practicing your dance steps for Yazmin?" she said, slightly irritable. "If you even brush the edge of that net..." "I know," Pasco whined half-heartedly. "I'll be sucked up into the mesh of nothing, suffering a horrible illness and perhaps death when you wind the net on your spindle. The little devil will not stop talking about it." "Well, it's important!" One low point, Sandry told herself, was having the teacher only two years older than the student. He won't listen to me! Patience. Don't take out your own fear on the poor boy...she softened. "We cannot let anything happen to you," she told him more gently. "But I can do it!" "Then do it again, please. There are some honey-cakes and tea coming soon, freshly baked by yours truly." She smiled as sweetly as she could, though her hands trembled slightly. Food, any kind of food, always subdued Briar, so maybe it could make Pasco calm down. "A treat before...tomorrow." He grunted and went to a clear area in the honey-gold room that Sandry had kept for herself in Emelan. Sufficiently satisfied with his obediance, she slowly read the letter, soaking in every bit of knowledge. A few minutes later, the letter nearly memorized, Pasco reappeared. "I did it three times," he said defensively, when she glared at him. "What's that?" He pointed to the blotch near the "Bye, Briar." "Is that...love?" he hooted. "He's your boyfriend?" Stifling the urge to propel her hankerchief into his mouth, Sandry counted to ten again. "No!" she cried aloud. "Probably can't spell." She could still feel her cheeks flushing red, though for what reasons she knew not. Pasco was just teasing anyway, what was the fuss? It wasn't as if she liked him that way...did she? He was attractive, she decided, with his curly mop of hair and green eyes. Funny, too, and a much more serious thinker than anyone would expect, with the bizzare things that came out of his mouth...then she remembered the last time they had seen each other, and what she had done, and blushed. She shoved the thought out of her head. She sat down at her golden-varnished wood desk, pen in hand. "What should I say?" she pondered, before setting the tip of the quill to the stationary. "How can I possibly describe these last few days, merchants piled into the strongest keep, weaving nothingness..." Her pen touched the paper, and her neat cursive graced the page with emerald green ink. "I wish you were here to talk to me." She missed his strange, sometimes pointless chatter the most, even the teasing tug on her short nose. Dear Briar... ~~~~~~~~~ 5. THE MARKET, SAMER AND THE RING ~~~~~~~~briar fifteen "Zak, hurry up!" Briar called loudly. "I have to get to the market! Now!" The boy, now nearly the same height as his mage friend, tumbled down the stairs as he fumbled with a cloak. "Why the hurry?" he grumbled, trying to plaster down his spiky blond hair. "I just woke up." "It's noon!" Briar exclaimed. "And its also my free day from Rosethorn!" "Yah, but then again it's also the rest day. When we're supposed to rest. But why the hurry?" "I told you," he said, exasperated. "I must send out midwinter gifts by next month, or it won't reach their homes in time for the holiday." Zak's nodded. "And I don't know if I'll find what I want." "You sound like my mother." "Shut up." Wandering through stalls, filled with metal work, pottery, fabrics, rugs, and anything anyone could possibly sell or buy, Briar shook his head. "I can't send Daja metalcraft, and I can't send Sandry fabric, and I can't send Tris...well, anything that would offend her. Which is almost everything." They were nearing the more expensive boutiques. "Man, do you have enough for this stuff?" Zak said, squinting at the prices. "It's out of this realm." Briar nodded smugly. "I've been working on ways of witching seeds, and growing small plants in my room during the fall. I've saved a bundle, and besides, the his Dukeness in Emelan sends me an allowance. He's taken it upon himself that all four- well, all three- of us are sponsored by his estate." "Wow." A man tapped his shoulder. "You know the Duke of Emelan?" he asked hastily, leaning over his counter. Silks overflowed the small cart, brocades and pre-ordered shirts also stacked inside. " 'S rare that someone from there is in Yanjing." Briar maintained eye contact warily. "Why?" The man smiled widely. "I've been there a few months back, in the harbor for my trade. His niece Lady Sandrilene fa Toren, Princess of Nemorn, took great interest in the cargo, and supplied us with some magicked items. Sorry to eavesdrop, but that's my trade, isn't it?" The street-boy gaped. "What's this about Princess? Sandry ain't no princess...is she?" The craftsman held out his hand. "Samer of the Aschulin clan, Silk Guild. And the beautiful Lady Sandrilene is a princess, since that strange infestation of chillfever killed half of the royal family in Nemorn. She was a close relative, so they pronounced her one of six princesses. Strange, these times are..." Rosethorn had mentioned a plague...but he hadn't known Sandry was a princess. "That beats all, doesn't it? I didn't know. Thanks. She gave you stuff to trade?" The merchant brought out a silky scarf. "Spelled for dryness. Good magic, she did. Lady Sandrilene was wandering around the harbor, dragging some poor, prissy boy the Nemornese must have been attempting to match-make with. Spent three hours staring at cloth, smart girl. Spunk. Dragged him through the streets and market the whole day. I think only his honor, and her prettiness, kept him from abandoning her when she went to visit the fishport." Briar laughed. "That sounds like her. I'm surprised she didn't push him in the water." He wondered about suitors for Sandry. It made him feel strange, because...well, to be honest with himself, he kind of wanted to be one of them. "She would do that?" "Sandry's done that before. Not to a suitor, but to a bully." His eye caught a bronzish-gold brocade cloth. "I'm Briar Moss, and that's nice stuff. Does your Guild-thing personalize your cloth?" Samer grinned. "We also make it into things, too." Zak stared as money changed hands. "Can it be a cloth this and this long and wide-" Briar gestured with his hands- "With a crest stitched onto it?" "Provided you give us a picture or sketch of this crest. That's kind of important, isn't it? We can have it done in a few days." Briar grinned. "I'll drop by with the crest tomorrow, and pick it up in a week?" Samer nodded, and waved as Briar and Zak picked their way through the busy street. "Wow," Zak said. "That was neat. Let's go do some more." Briar nodded, deep in thought. Zak laughed. "Oh, c'mon Briar. Admit it to yourself, if not to me. You like her. Love her. It's obvious already." "What?!" His friend ticked off points with his fingers. "First, you blush everytime I say her name. Second, you looked like murdering someone when that man Samer told you she had guys after her already. You jealous dog. Third, you don't talk to, see, or go out with any females. Thats plain weird, here. Fourth, you sit for hours when writing her letters. Fifth, when you wake up in the night, I can hear you say, 'Wish Sandry were here,' before dozing off." "You little spy, you." "It's true." The boy crossed his arms. "Don't deny it. Sixth, you carry that damn hanky and scarf just about everywhere. Seventh, you keep all her letters in a box all nice and pretty, and other letters go into an empty jar under your desk. Eighth-" Briar sighed. "All right, stop already." "Do you admit it, then?" Zak asked eagerly. "Maybe." His friend laughed a little bit before falling into step behind him quietly. Why was he jealous? Then he allowed himself to think about how nice she was, wonderfully understanding and caring, so unlike the girls Zak knew, who Briar avoided like a plague. Remembered how she would sit up with him when he had nightmares, no matter how old or how late it had been. Even when the other two were too deeply asleep to hear, without fail her soft footsteps would patter from across the hall. He also allowed himself to think about himself, and that those girls also considered him "cute" with his floppy black hair and green eyes. Also tall, not too bad build for a guy his age. Would that make a difference at all, or would Sandry simply consider him a friend only, or just another guy after all? A Roach? But he threw that bit out of his mind, because she was better than that. She was too kind, and compassionate, to think of him as street-rat. He was a fool for even thinking of it. And he was going nuts, Briar decided. Zak kept quiet, hoping that his friend would crack and tell him the truth about his "girlfriend in Emelan," or so he put it. But he didn't, and Zak pouted the whole way before seeing a pretty girl go by and wave at him, then he perked up a bit. "You have a one-track mind, Zak," Briar told him, but the blonde boy simply grinned. "Women love me, Briar-boy," he said, before getting punched in the arm. "Yeah, they love for you to go away!" He received a solid cuff to his head, and laughed. ~~~~~~~~ So that day, with luck, Briar found a thick volume for Tris about the pattern of tides in the great Southern Ocean, its pages a fresh, clean white. The new leather binding felt soft in his hands, and he hoped she would find it remotely interesting. Rosethorn got packets of seeds, those that were grown in the climate of this city and not Emelan. Perhaps the challenge could occupy her time, and keep her from murdering Crane. Lark got several skeins of the soft expensive wool, taken from the different breed of sheep herded outside the city. Gorse got a cookbook and a pair of local utensils, a two pronged fork and a long handled spoon. Niko, the mage himself, got a biography of himself, a story so strange that Briar wondered if it were true. He hadn't known that much about Niko, and never thought he would. And for Sandry, which was a slightly harder operation, since he had to escape Zak to find a gift to avoid any teasing, he went back past Samer's booth to the small store on the corner. After pretending to go home and leaving his friend in the rented building, Briar snuck off to the metalcraft and searched it's racks. It was the strangest thing, he told himself, after some introspection. "Would you like any help?" the man at the counter asked. "Anything in mind?" I don't know, I don't know, I don't know... "Can I just look around a bit?" The man nodded kindly. He wandered through racks of necklaces, bracelets, hairpins, nosepins, earrings, rings... Nothing seemed right. Once his eye caught a pendant, a pretty daisy flower with a small topaz set in the center, but it was a bit childish for a princess. A princess with suitors piling up at her door. That green-eyed monster of envy was knawing at his throat already, and it had been only an hour since he had heard. Briar himself was confused about that strange line between friendship and more-than-friendship, but nooo...he was cities away, restrained to letters and...Midwinter gifts. Which he had no idea what to get. Browsing through the inventory, his finger dropped to a slim golden ring, it's slender circle graced with a curling rosebud, a small emerald cradled in its twining vines. "Scuze me?" he asked the man. "Can I take this?" Exchanging money once again, the ring was safe in his pocket in a small wooden box before he even considered that it was a strange gift to give to a "friend." "Oh well," he muttered. "Too late anyway. Besides, its pretty, right? Just a gift."

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