It was a chilly day, colder than the one before. The sun was just beginning to set. As was usual this time of day, the crowds at the marketplace were beginning to recede. Mothers were hurrying to buy the last of their groceries, likely eager to get to their warm, cozy houses and start preparing supper for their hungry families. There were a few groups of teenagers walking- perhaps they were on their way to see one of those moving pictures, as they seemed often wont to do on a Saturday night in this world.

No one paid any attention to the sandy haired man with the backpack and the dark eyed boy trailing alongside him.

Dustfinger wished the same could be said about them, but it could not, for Farid was doing nothing to conceal his curiosity. He stared, wide-eyed, at the people as they passed.

"Dustfinger! Why is that woman talking to that little box?"

Dustfinger suppressed a sigh. Farid had been quiet for the last five minutes, and he'd allowed himself to hope that he had finally run out of questions. But it seemed that it was not so. Irritation rose in him- there was a lot on the fire-eater's mind, and he wanted to think, not answer the boy's never ending questions.

The boy tugged on his coat when he didn't answer right away. "Dustfinger?"

"Don't touch me," he said, shaking him off as he continued to walk. There were sidewalks lining the shops, and fruit stands arranged near the middle of the town square. It was quieter, less frantic-seeming, than most busy marketplaces were, and if only there were not moving pictures flashing on screens through the stores' windows, it might even seem similar to some busy village in his own world.

It took around four seconds for him to realize that Farid was no longer walking behind him. He turned around and saw that the boy was standing still, staring in fascination at another man who was also talking to a 'little box'.

"If you don't keep up you'll be left behind," Dustfinger called over his shoulder. The boy ran to catch up to him again.

"What are they?"

"They're called phones," the fire-eater answered. Although they were quite popular in this world, Farid had not noticed them before now. For most of the boy's time in this world they had been in Capricorn's village, and for the brief period when they'd put on shows before going with Silvertongue to see the writer, Farid had been paying more attention to other things.

"But what are they? What do they do?"

"Keep your voice down, would you?" Dustfinger snapped. "I'm right next to you, there's no need to shout; you're attracting stares." He already felt that wherever he went, people could tell he was a stranger, that he didn't belong. He hardly needed the boy making it worse by making a spectacle. "They use them to talk to other people," he finally answered.

The boy gave him a blank look.

Dustfinger sighed impatiently. "They don't talk to the little boxes themselves, they use them to talk to another person. Two people can hear each other from miles away through the devices."

Farid's eyes lit up as comprehended the use of the cell phones. "That's...that's amazing."

"That's one word for it. Keep up," he added sharply, when the boy began to lag behind again.

"It's magic!" Farid said.

"No, just more advanced technology than in either of our worlds." Although when he had first come across them, he had thought the exact same thing himself. This whole world was filled with magic: horrible, dark magic that had whisked him from his home, and ever since then would not stop moving, moving so very fast, never giving him a chance to stop and try to find some peace of mind, never giving him a chance to stop feeling as though he didn't belong, not even for one second.

The boy didn't feel the same way at all. Farid looked on all the things Dustfinger hated in this world and acted like they were extraordinary. He should see something truly extraordinary, the fire-eater thought, while imagining trees that grew straight to the sky, flowers more beautiful than any that this world had to offer, and honey that allowed one to learn the language of the fire. Despite the wave of longing he felt, as he always did when he thought of his home, he almost smiled- Farid was already in awe of his skills with fire, how would he react if he saw the things he could do with the flames in his own world?

The next moment he was pulled abruptly from his thoughts by the boy's excited- and much too loud- voice. "Dustfinger, Dustfinger! Dustfinger!" His name slipped so easily from the boy's tongue, as if he had been saying it his whole life. It unsettled the fire-eater. He had never been particularly good with children, not even his own daughters. He generally avoided having much to do with them. He wasn't like Silvertongue; he didn't give off that protective, caring air. So why was the boy so keen to stay with him?

"Dustfin-"

He held up a hand, cutting the boy off. "Yes, I heard you the first three times. Look, if you want to come with me, there are some things you need to know. First of all, I'm not generally one for conversation as I walk. I like to enjoy the silence as much as I can in this confounded, noisy world."

"Yes, I've noticed," Farid said. "You often seem like your thoughts are miles away."

"The point is, if you want to stay with me, a good deal less questions are in order."

"Why do you keep saying if I come with you? I am."

And with the boy's words, the question that had been plaguing Dustfinger ever since he had taken the book and left the village with Farid the day before rose to the surface of his thoughts, stronger than ever.

What was he thinking, taking Farid with him?

Dustfinger didn't answer Farid right away. By this time they had reached the edge of the outdoor marketplace. There were a few houses on either side of the hard, dirt road that led out of the village's center, and beyond the houses was a small, clustered wooded area. It would be the perfect place to spend the night- it was not yet so cold that they couldn't sleep outdoors; there would be no need to look for an abandoned barn.

"You can start gathering dry sticks for the fire," he told the boy, as they entered the cheerful woods. As he slipped his backpack off, he heard scrabbling inside- Gwin must have finally woken up after napping all day. He opened it and the marten bounded out, pausing to sniff around before going after the boy.

It had been a day since they'd left the village. It had been dark when they'd left- they had walked throughout the night, slept through half of the next day, then walked again until now, when it was beginning to grow dark again. Dustfinger thought back to when they had left. It hadn't taken Farid much to convince him to allow him to come along. He had not tried nearly hard enough to dissuade the boy- after a few halfhearted protests, he had simply let him follow. Why? Well, it was partly because he hadn't wanted to risk waking Silvertongue up.

But it was mostly because his heart had told him to.

Silently, unobtrusively, it had urged him to allow the boy to come with him, because now that Resa, his one light in this dark world, had returned to her husband and daughter, he was alone. But that was exactly it: he had let Resa come into his heart, and she had left him. It would be exactly the same with the boy: if he let himself care about him, he would end up losing him one way or another.

Because, even if his brain tried to deny it, his heart knew that was what would happen. Not right away- Dustfinger did not let other people get close to him easily, after all. But if Farid stayed with him, learning his trade? If he saw the boy each day as they traveled to find another reader? He wouldn't be able to help it. Already, after barely knowing the boy for more than a few weeks, he felt a peculiar...almost fondness when he saw Farid try so hard to make the flames dance the same way Dusftinger did. If Farid came with him, it would only get worse, and before he knew it the boy would have wormed his way into his heart, and there wouldn't be a thing he could do about it.

Dustfinger had always been so careful with his heart, stitching it back together after each break, and after nine long years, it was still intact. He couldn't just give it away to anyone who tried to take it, leaving them with the power to hurt him. Resa had just taught him that.

The boy would have to go.

Lost in his thoughts, Dustfinger hadn't even realized that Farid was keeping up a steady stream of chatter while he gathered the sticks. It certainly hadn't taken him long to forget that he'd told him to stop talking so much, Dustfinger thought dryly, but strangely, he wasn't annoyed. He was too preoccupied to be annoyed. He knelt down on the soft ground, striking a match, and within moments a bright fire was blazing. The boy sat down and reached his hands out, warming them.

Dustfinger frowned slightly as he thought of how best to solve his current dilemma. He didn't know how he could break the news lightly to the boy when he was so intent on coming. If something had to be said, he usually just said it, not bothering with delicacy. After all, everyone learned eventually that the truth was not pretty- why try to make anything seem better than it was? Although, he didn't want to upset the boy. But he supposed it couldn't be helped.

"You can't come with me anymore, Farid." The words slipped out, blunt, as usual.

The boy looked up, frowning. "What?"

"You can't come with me where I'm going," Dustfinger snapped. "I'm taking you back to Silvertongue; his house can't be too far from here. We can get there in a couple of days, maybe even tomorrow night."

Farid, of course, protested at once. "But you said I could come."

"I didn't, actually. You followed, and I let you."

"I'll just follow you again."

"Farid, I'm serious! Silvertongue is the one who brought you to this world; you're his responsibility, not mine." Dustfinger quickly looked away when he saw the boy's dejected expression, staring into the flames instead.

"Silvertongue already has his wife and daughter. He won't want me," Farid said quietly.

"And you think I want you either?" Dustfinger asked sharply. He tried to push away the guilt he felt when the boy's face grew even more crestfallen. Gwin perked his head up, chattering, and rubbed against Farid's hand. Dustfinger thought his marten's eyes looked reproachful. "Look," he sighed. "You're a good kid" -the words felt awkward on his tongue- "and you show a great deal of promise with fire..." -a smile broke across Farid's gloomy face at the praise, and Dustfinger quickly added, "though you still have a long ways to go...but I can't have you keep traveling with me while I look for someone to read me home. It isn't practical; once I'm gone, you'll be alone in this world."

"So take me with you when you go back," Farid suggested, as though the solution were as simple as that.

Dustfinger resisted the urge to put his face in his hands and groan out loud. Why did this have to be so difficult? "You're not coming with me anymore," he said sharply, "and that's that." He lay down and turned over, so he didn't have to see the boy's face. "I suggest you get some sleep," he added. "We'll set out at first light tomorrow."

Either Farid lay down so silently that Dustfinger didn't hear him, or he stayed in his position by the fire. Dustfinger didn't turn around to look, he just closed his eyes, arguing with himself inside- his brain and his heart took opposite positions, battling for dominance. Why did the boy's eyes have to make him feel so guilty? It wasn't his fault that Farid couldn't go with him, he tried to tell himself. It was just the way things were. And yet, he still felt guilty.

It took him much longer than usual to fall asleep.

There was nothing abnormal about his nightmares that night. They were no better or worse than his nightmares usually were. His wife and daughters drifted through his dreams, but their faces were blurred. He was torn from them, forced into another world, forced to watch as they faded away.

"Dustfinger?"

He was being shaken awake. "What is it?" he asked quickly, looking around, wary upon waking.

"Nothing, you were just very restless in your sleep," the boy said. He looked a little worried. "Were you dreaming?"

Dustfinger rubbed his eyes, sitting up. "Yes." He felt cold inside. Before Farid had woken him, he had seen his wife and daughters dead in his sleep. The worst thing about waking from a dream like that was that he never knew if it really was only a dream. After nine years, his family could be dead. The Black Prince could be dead. Cloud Dancer could be dead. There was no way for him to know.

He took a long stick from the ground and began poking at the dying fire. Sparks flew up.

From across the flames, the boy watched him, dark eyes following his movements. "I could stay awake while you slept," he offered. "You don't have to worry about bad dreams, I'll keep watch and wake you if you have any more."

Dustfinger paused in his movements of building up the fire. "That...won't be necessary," he said, feeling oddly touched. "But thank you, that's kind of you to offer." Farid's face lit up slightly at his words. Dustfinger almost smiled- the boy always seemed so happy by even the least bit of praise. He supposed it was because in his world, he had received very little, probably none.

They were both silent for a few minutes. When it was clear that neither of them would be going back to sleep right away, Farid began to fill the silence with inconsequential chatter, not seeming to pay much attention to the topics, and Dustfinger occasionally replied, absentmindedly, not concentrating on his answers, either. They were both lost in their own thoughts, but Dustfinger found himself grateful for the slight distraction; it kept him from dwelling as much on his dreams and his home as he normally would.

After a time, silence reigned again.

"Dustfinger?"

"Hm?" He didn't raise his eyes from the fire.

"What was it like in your world?" Farid asked softly.

On the nights during the events surrounding Capricorn's village, they had sometimes sat by the fire, talked, exchanged sad stories- but Dustfinger had never talked about his home to Farid. Besides from occasionally to Resa, and the little bits he'd told Silvertongue's daughter, he hadn't talked about his world to anyone. He opened his mouth to answer sharply that it wasn't any of his business, but instead, different words came out.

"Well, the trees were tall, much taller than in this world," he began. "They seemed to grow straight into the sky..."

As he began to talk, the words flew faster and faster, and it became easier and easier- as if telling the boy stories about his home was the most natural thing in the world. Farid listened, wide eyed, as Dustfinger described in detail the beautiful sights, the different creatures, and the things he could do with fire. Whenever he paused, the boy prompted him with more questions.

At some point, as the moon shone over them and the fire died down again, Dustfinger realized in the back of his head that he wouldn't be able to bring himself to give Farid back to Silvertongue.

He was being foolish, allowing another person to come close to his heart again. He knew it was foolish.

And he couldn't bring himself to care.

After everything that had happened with Silvertongue and his daughter, so many things had ended: his on and off service to Capricorn, his friendship with Resa...but as they sat by the flames, the fire-eater and his new shadow, as the world slept around them, something new began. Neither of them knew it at the time, but it would soon grow to be something beautiful for them both.

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed! If you have a moment to leave me a quick review, I would appreciate it more than I can say. :)