“Changing?” Yimt lifted up the hem of his caerna and scratched at his thigh while he pondered the question. “I tried warming a cup of arr the other day between my hands, you know, calling up a bit of the frost fire. All I managed to do was light my beard on fire, and the arr was colder than when I started.”

“You’re making fun of me,” Alwyn said. Yimt should understand. He took the oath as well.

“Don’t get your caerna in a twist,” Yimt said, smiling at him. “I just don’t think it’s as bad as you make out. Sure, we might be doomed to eternal service in the afterlife, but if we’re still serving then we can’t exactly be after life, see? I’ll tell you this, Ally, having already put in a few decades in Her Majesty’s employ…traipsing hither and yon about the Empire…visiting smelly little villages with nasty little people chucking all kinds of sticks and stones and spells at you…I have to say, it ain’t that bad. Personally,” Yimt said, changing his scratching to his beard, “I can see some up sides.”

Alwyn looked out to sea and tried to find the view Yimt saw there.

“C’mon, Ally, we can chaw this over back at camp. Doesn’t do a fellow any good to be out alone in a place like this. What were you doing up here anyway?”

Alwyn shook his head. “Nothing. I just came up here for a walk and to get some fresh air. Miss Tekoy says I need to keep in motion to get the stump used to the new leg.” Just a month ago a black arrow crafted by a dark art and wielded by an even darker creature had pierced his thigh. In the effort to save his life, Alwyn lost more than his leg that night. “And Miss Red Owl says I need to keep active so that I don’t dwell on…things. She’s teaching me meditation.”