Legend of Ransera

It was spring—it was finally well and truly spring. Kalzasi was colder than both his homelands, but he had spent a few years here, long enough to fall into sync with the local spirits and the local climate, long enough to put down roots of sorts and actually make friends. That was as much a miracle for him personally as the new moon was for the world. What either portended, he couldn't say.

"Thanks, Sivan," Timon said as he slipped out the back door of the storefront to cross the yard into the home he shared with Torin Kilvin, whose name had originally been alone on the sign outside. The young apprentice would likely shoot up like a weed now that the sun was coming out. He was less apprentice to Torin anymore than to Master Kavafis or Lady Leukos, who fostered his true talent for business rather than his passing acquaintance with the forge.

In any case, Torin's talent with the aether forge eclipsed that of the mundane, and he had managed to persuade the normally itinerant elf to stay in Kalzasi when his second apprenticeship was over. Now, not only did he create alchemical agents for Torin's runeforging projects, but he sold them through the storefront adjacent to their workshops. He was returning to his artificery, as well, but there was less call for that here.

When he had been Master Jacun's apprentice in alchemy, he had spent a great deal of time in his storefront, forced to interact with customers and more speedily acquire the common tongue. It hadn't been a terrible challenge; that language was far more simplistic than Rivach, Mythrasi, or Vallenor. Sometimes Common was superior, though, in its simplicity. Not everything had to be poetry.

While Timon lunched, Sivan moved around the modest showroom. There was nothing that needed cleaning, nor accounting to be done, and so he looked at some of the displays of his wares and Torin's wares, marveling at how the lad made everything look more appealing somehow. He almost wanted to pay Timon for things he himself had created.

By this point, most people came to the forge by appointment. Torin's reputation was ever climbing. He was, Sivan gathered, better even than Talon Novalys with the aether forge. Sivan's own reputation was more modest; he was known as Jacun's old apprentice, and perhaps as Torin's junior partner, but that didn't bother him. In fact, it seemed to bother his neighbor, Laurevere Val'Istra far more, but then, he was a Hytori nobleman with Siltori blood; he seemed invested in Sivan, who was a Hytori nobody with Dratori blood, proving that even Hytori of mixed ancestry were perfectly capable of shining.

It mattered less to Sivan, who had left Dalquia and Sol'Valen with no plans to return.

"I'm back," said Timon. He always alerted Sivan with words, and often Torin as well. The two were peas in a pod they way they zoned out, whether immersing their minds in their arcane senses and just existing in the world, or going wherever it was they went to channel their creations from the formless chaos into ideas to be manifested.

Sivan smiled.

"There isn't much food," Timon apologized. "We are still sharing as much as we can with the needy, and I-"

"No need to apologize," the elf assured him. "You are growing still, and I can go hunting."

"Take Huntress?" he asked hopefully, glad his miscalculation and hunger wouldn't mean Sivan went hungry.

"All right."

She trotted out from behind the counter as Sivan went behind there to take one of Torin's doorknobs.

"We'll run far afield," he promised. "See if we can't find any spring offerings." He always did. The spirits would point out things for him if he asked, and often if he didn't. He set the knob against the door, concentrated, and turned it. He and Huntress walked through, and he waved to Timon before closing the door behind him.

They found themselves in a small, empty place kept by Portions for Foxes near the edge of town. He stowed the knob and doffed his clothes. Having grown up in Silfanore and Dalquor, he wasn't bothered by even an intelligent wolf seeing him in his skin. She shot out the door as soon as he cracked it open, and he began to change as he followed her. He still had opposable thumbs when he closed the door behind him, but soon dropped to all four paws, frisking about as he got used to his lupine form.

Huntress had always been both amused and appreciative of his odd coloration; his fur kept the golden sheen of his Hytori heritage, and no wolf had eyes blue like his. His mind changed even as his form did; that was how it always worked for him. He didn't stop being an elf, but the shape of his brain, the systems of his body changed, and those were what supported his mind and his spirit.

He froze as soon as his transformation was complete. Then he shot off after Huntress as if truly hunting her. She was making for the nearest treeline, and he followed, hunger forgotten in exchange for a different sort of hunger. He was confused, a bit, but then realized what it was he was smelling: Huntress was in estrus.

Oh.