Things weren't supposed to turn out this way, Veneron thought for what must have been the thousandth time in the last fortnight. Replaying the events that had propelled him from his comparatively comfortable life again and again didn't help. But he couldn't help it.

It had been a normal day on the ranch. Father and Kael, Veneron's older, bolder, stronger and favored brother had ridden out early to check on the cattle.  Veneron, though twenty years of age, was left behind for work "more suited to his build" as his father would say.  Today that meant crawling on his hands and knees through the vegetable garden, pulling weeds and removing slugs.  Veneron spent the better part of his day weeding.  But he also had time to draw water for his mother and sister to cook with and sweeping out the stalls.  

By mid-afternoon, however, he was released from his menial work to study with old man Kellerwyn.  This was the only part of the day that Veneron looked forward to.  Some years past, when it was evident that Veneron would not be growing much more than five feet four inches of wiry frame and would likely make a poor rancher, his father had taken him to see old man Kellerwyn.  After talking to Veneron briefly and negotiating with his father at length, old man Kellerwyn agreed to school Veneron every afternoon for a few hours in the art of magic.  And so, four years later, Veneron was walking toward town to hone his skills.  His magic was enough to amaze his family, certainly, but Ven was uncertain if his powers were enough to allow him to launch out on his own.

Splashing and girlish giggling interrupted Veneron's thoughts of what he would do when he finally felt confident in his skills. Curious, Ven quietly walked to the top of a mild rise to the east that obstructed his view of Tapir Creek, which eventually flowed into the mighty Rangithael. As he got to the top he caught his breath, for there in the creek frolicked Marissa and her sister Mayveryn -- nude!  Of course, from Veneron's vantage point, the details were definitely hard to make out, but this was surely a prize moment in a young man's life.

If only I could get closer, he thought as he squinted down at the girls below.  And then the fateful idea that would send him hundreds of leagues from home and family occurred to him.  Invisibility.  I've just learned the spell. There can be no better use for the skill than this.  Quickly, before either Marissa or Mayveryn chanced to see him silhouetted on the ridge, he felt for the thread of magic and formed the words that would shape it:

Like the cat that slinks thru night,
Or Time that's racing past and by,
I shape this fabric with my might,
To bend the light, to bend the light.

Ven looked down and saw that the spell was indeed working; he was invisible!.  He could be heard, though, so it was with some care that he walked closer for an improved view.  As he neared the creek, Ven found a comfortable looking boulder and sat himself there to enjoy the show.  He hadn't been seated for two minutes, however, when the sound of hoof beats from upstream could be heard.  Suddenly, Arvist, astride his horse galloped into the scene and pulled to a stop directly in front of Ven.  

"Well, well, look what we've got here. Two beauties with no way to get their clothing," Arvist said to the young ladies, who had modestly gone to deeper water, leaving only their heads exposed.

"Arvist Miller, you just keep right on riding this instant!" Marissa shouted.

"No trouble, miss. I'll be on my way. But your clothes are goin' with me."  With that he suddenly leaped from his saddle . . . and collided squarely into Veneron, tumbling both in a heap.  The power of the spell was broken and suddenly Ven was visible.  Arvist rolled off of Ven and jumped to his feet.  "Well, son of Silindur, that sneaky little mage, Veneron, has been peeking at you girls all along!" he exclaimed.  Arvist, seeing the opportunity to make himself the hero, continued. "Marissa, you and Mayveryn stay put; I'll fetch your father and the magistrate."

With that bold pronouncement, Arvist leaped into his saddle and began to ride toward town. Veneron was absolutely panicked.  He wasn't sure what the magistrate would do, but he was pretty sure what the girls' father would do and if that didn't kill him the embarrassment would.  He had to stop Arvist -- get him to reconsider.  Arvist was riding away; there wasn't time to find the words he'd need for a spell.  All Veneron had at his disposal were a few cantrips, minor tricks that only need concentration.

And then he had it! He focused and made a fist.  Just as Arvist was about to go out of range, horrible sounds like a catfight exploded from all around Arvist and his steed.  The frightened horse planted her front legs and came to a halt, just as Veneron had planned.  But Arvist, unprepared for the sudden stop, had flown forward over the horse's head, which wasn't part of the plan at all.  Ven ran ahead to catch Arvist before he could remount, desperately thinking of something he could offer or promise him to keep him from turning him in.  The horse sidled out of the way as Ven approached, revealing Arvist's body, neck apparently broken and head bleeding from the rock he had landed on.

After that, Veneron had seized Arvist's horse and ridden home.  He snuck into the shed and took what he thought he would need: some studded armor that belonged to (and fit) his brother, an old short sword, a blanket, and a set of climbing tools which he and his brother had frequently used to climb in the foothills of the Westron mountains.  He waited impatiently until his mother left the kitchen and then he snuck in and grabbed what food he could find, took half of the coins from under the flour crock, and a blanket.  Then, without even so much as a farewell to his family, he fled south and east toward Squarento where he could lose himself in the big city crowds.

No, things weren't supposed to turn out this way, Veneron thought again as he came through the gates of Squarento and nearly ran into a huge ugly man half-heartedly advertising rooms at the Flying Fish Inn. Veneron shrugged to himself, One room's as good as another for a fugitive and murderer. He patted Arvist's horse gently, And horse thief, he added to himself.