Wyvern Tails and Phoenix Feathers

The Porcelain Heart, Chapter 2 - Bryn

As a child, it was rare for Bryn to be on his own. The Archmage always kept a watchful eye, an overbearing father intent on protecting him from ever-present danger. Subsequently, Bryn felt less like a child and more like a fragile porcelain doll. In time, he concluded that he was incapable of most things without the Archmage's assistance.

In occasional moments, when the Archmage was thoroughly occupied, Bryn was allowed to be looked after by Oran Highwater. He treasured the escape, both because it granted him a feeling of freedom and because he enjoyed the company of the younger mage.

Oran would take him on walks in the Blue Keep garden, along the high cliffs, and through the friendlier parts of town. Port Shorishal was a gorgeous city, much more scenic than the rugged village he had come from. And while Bryn found inspiration and excitement, he saw Oran often wore an expression of melancholy as he gazed into the clouds or the sea.

"I just have sad eyes," Oran explained. "It's how I look regardless of my mood."

Bryn thought it was a silly thing to say. He had seen joy in Oran's eyes before. The previously downturned corners of his eyelids lifted with cheer. His expression wasn't evergreen, yet Oran insisted it wasn't an accurate depiction of his mood.

"You mustn't judge people by the hardship they carry on their faces," he said. "Bad people can look pleasant and smile. Good people can look angry. If you must judge them, let it be for their actions."

The advice stuck with Bryn. And in his assessment of Oran through his actions, he found him to be a pillar of kindness in an often unkind world.

One day as they passed through a field, they heard a faint moan in the wind; the pained cry of a cat, they discovered. She was tangled in solder wire. It had torn into her throat. Her snow-white coat was matted in blood. When they crouched beside her, she was silent. Oran placed his hand on her back with tender sympathy.

"She still has life," he said. "Slipping away, but it's still here. Chant with me."

He held out his other hand to Bryn. The contact would allow arcaén to flow freely between them.

"Fe Goro Pur Delan..."

Bryn instantly recognized the transmogrification spell; metal to water. It was a hard spell to chant. The words were sharp and twisting, but Bryn was happy to lend his aid. After four chants, the spell took effect. The wire became clear, melted, and soaked into the ground. Bryn tasted blood in his mouth. Oran severed his connection with Bryn and wrapped his fingers gently around the cat's neck. Then he bent forward and whispered something in her ear. Wounds carved into Oran's throat.

"Oran. No," Bryn gasped.

Oran raised his head, smiling through the pain.

"It's not the full lesion," he said. "I can take it."

The cat was purring, her life restored. Without a moment to recover, she got to her feet and darted away. She disappeared into a tall patch of grass.

"She didn't even say thank you," said Bryn.

"She did," Oran assured him. "She has kittens nearby. They need their mother."

Bryn shrugged. Both the Archmage and Oran had honed their ability to communicate with animals. Bryn could only take him at his word. He was impressed by Oran's quick thinking; it had assuredly saved the cat's life. But his mind was already wandering, enchanted by the limitless applications of spellwork.

"What if she was dead?" Bryn wondered aloud. "I mean completely. Could you have brought her back?"

"Not as she was," said Oran. "Not entirely. There are many tomes that cover necromancy, but I haven't studied them."