Traveling with Stil was an interesting experience, less because he was a mage and more because of his relationship with his donkey, Pricker Patch.
Pricker Patch was a stoic animal. He did not like to move more than necessary, but when he was finally coaxed to walk, Gemma had to trot to keep up. Pricker Patch set the pace for the day, and when Pricker Patch stopped, Gemma and Stil stopped, for the donkey could not be pushed, urged, coaxed, or bribed into taking another step. Usually the animal was willing to go for most of the day, so on the third day of their travels, when Pricker Patch stopped mid-morning at the edge of the forest—just as they were about to leave the protection of the trees—and would continue no farther, Gemma thought it was odd.
“Does he normally do this?” Gemma asked, studying the displeased donkey.
“Sometimes, but not usually without a purpose,” Stil said. He ran his hands down the donkey’s legs and inspected his hooves.
“Hmm,” Gemma said, leaning against a tree to look out at the ambling, open field. The field was at least a mile long before it plunged back into a small copse of trees. “…Stil,” Gemma said, shielding her eyes from the bright sun and squinting.
“What?” Stil asked, rubbing one of Pricker Patch’s ears.
“Do you see that?” Gemma asked, pointing at the shapes moving at the perimeter of the field.
Stil looked where Gemma was pointing before slipping a tube from his belt and flicking it open into a beautiful and ornate spyglass. “Soldiers,” he said, passing the spyglass to Gemma so she could see as well.
When Gemma held it to her right eye, it brought the shapes into focus, revealing uniforms and weapons.
Stil scratched his head in aggravation. “I didn’t think they would come this way. I assumed they would think we would follow a river south. That will teach me to skimp on charms and spells,” he said before pulling on Pricker Patch’s halter and changing directions.
“What do we do?” Gemma asked.
“We change directions and head farther east. I have no idea how they got farther south of us, but we should be able to circle around them. Tomorrow, I’ll set some spells and charms up before we travel,” Stil said, leading the way.
Pricker Patch surprisingly accepted the change and started walking again.
Gemma glanced back at the soldiers before she hurried to carry the spyglass to Stil as they continued their journey, safely screened by the trees.
Several days later—this time late in the afternoon—Pricker Patch decided they had traveled far enough. As there was still an hour or two of sunlight left, Stil tried to persuade the donkey to continue, but in a fit of anger Pricker Patch (moving with a surprising amount of swiftness), grabbed an edge of Stil’s cloak, and yanked it, badly ripping the fabric.
“This…,” Stil darkly trailed off and glared at his donkey. “How am I supposed to fix this?” he asked an unrepentant Pricker Patch, shaking his cloak in front of the animal. “It’s already falling to pieces! If it rips much more, I’m going to start losing some of the spells and charms fixed in it.”
“Can’t you buy a new one?” Gemma asked, working to undo the buckles and ties that held the tent poles and material on the donkey’s back.
“Not easily,” Stil frowned, studying the tear. “It’s blasted hard to get a tailor talented enough to make a clothing item in which I can invest a large amount of spells—like this cloak. I bought it from a Ringsted tailor when I first made apprentice—I should have bought ten of them, for I haven’t found another tailor as skilled since. Wretched creature,” Still said, narrowing his eyes at the donkey.
Gemma patted Pricker Patch’s neck.
“Don’t comfort him; he doesn’t deserve it,” Stil said, flipping his hair over his shoulder. (It was long again, today. Gemma had no idea how he did it, but Stil changed hair styles—and lengths—at least once a day. He seemed to expect her to comment on it, so naturally she did not.)
“I doubt it comforts him. I think he dislikes human touch,” Gemma dryly said, stepping back to slide the tent poles off the donkey.
“Perhaps normal humans, but he clearly likes you.”
“What? How can you tell?”
“He looks very happy,” Stil said.
Gemma stared at the donkey.
Pricker Patch looked just as cantankerous and stoic as he had since she first set eyes on him.
“I don’t see it,” Gemma said.
“He’s thrilled. He’s merely skilled at hiding it,” Stil said.
“I see,” Gemma said as she finished unpacking the tent.
Stil finished mourning his cloak and moved between Gemma and the tent. “I’ll set it up.”
Gemma mutely backed up and patted Pricker Patch as she squinted at the horizon. “I am surprised we haven’t seen the soldiers, again.”