Boreal

Chapter Six

Thunk!

Ptarmigan jumped as something banged against the balcony doors, halfway through buttoning up his shirt. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see Ciarran returning from the previous night's flocking - only Siskin had returned, in the early gongs - but the balcony was empty.

His wyvern was perched on the arm of the couch, talking with Siskin as the man made them breakfast. Ptarmigan watched her for a minute, trying to work out if she'd heard it too, and when she gave no sign, figured it must have just been his imagination.

"What time do you think you'll be back today?" Siskin asked absentmindedly.

"Before dusk," he replied. "The Fourteenth gong at the latest."

Siskin hummed. "Don't suppose you'll tell me where you're going?"

"Nowhere really."

His instructor clicked his tongue, sliding the eggs in his pan onto the plates he'd set on the countertop. Ptarmigan cast one last look at the balcony, then turned to head over and join them.

Thunk!

Ptarmigan span around, just in time to see the pebble come to rest. He bit the inside of his cheek. Shyam had heard it, this time, her warning crest flickering. It hadn't taken long for the children to find where they lived after it had become clear they were easy targets, and this wouldn't be the first time someone had come with the intention of starting a fight. They were baiting him.

"Leave it, Tarm," Shyam hushed. "It isn't worth it."

He opened his mouth to reply, only for another, louder thunk to interrupt him. Siskin had taken notice too now, frowning in their direction. Ptarmigan clenched his fists. If they wanted a fight, he'd give it to them.

Before either of them could stop him, Ptarmigan had stalked over to the door and flung it open, ready to hurl every insult he knew in the assailant's direction.

Her arm was caught mid-throw, sheepishly dropping the next pebble as their gazes met. Almas stood in the street below, half in the shadows of the buildings opposite. She was dressed identically to when he'd last seen her, though the hood of her cloak was up, and she had a battered satchel over one shoulder.

Ptarmigan froze, trapped in a moment of confusion before she raised one hand and waved. He waved back, then stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind him.

"Tarm!" She called.

"What are you doing here?" He yelled back, "I thought the Guardian Captain said you weren't allowed out?"

"I'm not! Can I come up?"

"Aye!"

He ducked back inside only to see Siskin moving the plates over to couch. The man frowned but didn't stop him as Ptarmigan made his way over to the front door, throwing it open.

Almas was up in less than a minute, smiling as he directed her to take off her boots and hang her cloak on the stand. She thanked him quietly. It was only then Siskin decided to clear his throat.

"Who's this, Tarmy?"

"This is Almas. Met her yesterday at the Citadel. Almas, this is Siskin, our instructor."

"Nice to meet you, sir."

Siskin grinned, raising his eyebrows.

"So, you're the one everyone's been kicking up a fuss about, aye? Have you had breakfast?"

"Not yet, Sir."

"Siskin's fine, sweetheart."

He pushed himself to his feet and shot her a wink.