Leaves blowing out of the way of his nimble feet, he exited the woods. The acrid smell of burnt hair stinging his nostrils, he approached the distant campfire.
Something wasn’t right about the way he was walking. He was shorter, more fluid. He looked down at himself. His robes were black, his hair was black, and he could clearly see the figures sitting solemnly around the campfire- his friends. Well, all but one were friends- Dean.
He wasn’t going to enjoy asking a favor from him, but how else would he replace his spellbooks? Perhaps his mother had some of his old study books, and he could rescribe them without any help. He definitely wouldn’t be of any help in the quest if he had no spells.
He approached ever closer, and listened to the conversation going on in camp, but far away that no one would see him.
Alawan was almost crying, Jerick looked calm, oddly. Danyelle was visibly upset, and there was his grandmother, Elana. They had succeeded.
Relief washed over him. He strode confidently into camp, hoping he wouldn’t be attacked, for he didn’t want to have to kill anyone. Well, anyone but Dean.
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