The Rook Thief and the Inkworld

Prologue

Farid crept silently through the brush, his dark eyes taking in his surroundings with slight interest. He was nearly there, he was sure of it. Though he hadn't been in this area for a very long time, it was familiar to him. Just a few more steps...

Farid stepped up to the large bush that blocked him from the place he was searching for and pushed a few leafy twigs out of the way of his eyes with long, brown fingers, gazing through the space he had made.

Yes, there it was. The moonlight cast a silver sheen on the little farm, and Farid could see candle flames flickering inside a few of the windows. He did not know why he had come here first. Wasn't it the other farm he had come for? The other family, or rather that one man? What had drawn him here, to this farm first?

Perhaps it was pure curiosity.

Farid stiffened as the house's front door swung open and a teenage boy came out. He immediately wondered if that was her latest love interest, but then remembered that she would have aged, like him, and that made the teenage boy far too young for her. His hostility toward the boy instantly relaxed. Curiosity replaced it. Who was the kid?

Another someone rushed out of the house, and Farid's heartbeat quickened very slightly when he saw that this someone had long fair hair that shone in the night. Was it-?

"Ben, wait!" Called the young woman, and her voice was so familiar, Farid couldn't help but smile a little. Then another thought struck him and his face froze. That boy, was he her...no...no, he hadn't been away that long had he?

Yes, he had. With that realization came an awful feeling in his stomach, he felt almost sick.

"Ben, hold on, Mum wants to talk to you for a second!" The young woman called as the teenage boy turned around. Another woman appeared in the doorway, also blonde, but thin as a twig, and quite a bit older. Farid recognized her as well.

The older woman beckoned to the boy, and he reluctantly trudged back. She bent and murmured in his ear, while the younger girl stood still, staring up at the rise where Farid stood hidden, looking almost directly at him. He couldn't remember the older woman's name, but he could remember hers.

Meggie.

Farid had realized by this point that the teenage boy wasn't Meggie's child, but rather her brother. This was very relieving, as much as Farid didn't want to admit it. He had feared that as soon as he'd been gone, she'd gotten involved with that other boy with the stiff fingers and had his child, but it looked like he was mistaken. He was glad.

When the teenage boy was on his way again, and Meggie and her mother had gone back inside, Farid crept down the rise and up to one of the windows. He stealthily peeked inside, and his mouth instantly curved into a scowl. The boy with the stiff fingers sat in a chair by the fireplace, except now he was a man, like Farid. What had his name been? It started with a D.

"Doria, would you like more tea?" Asked Meggie's mother as she passed by.

Doria. Yes, that had been the name. He was the boy who had stolen Meggie from Farid. Farid glared at him, feeling the fire tingle inside his fingers, craving freedom.

There she was. Meggie. She had sat down on the arm of Doria's chair. She was more beautiful than Farid remembered. She had grown taller, lost some weight. Her hair was like a river of pale gold cascading down her shoulders.

Farid turned away. He stared at the ground, a strange emotion churning inside him. He did not want to linger here any longer. They had all forgotten him, hadn't they? Perhaps he should just forget them too.

Farid walked away from the house on his bare feet, whistling to Jink softly. He disappeared into the night, heading in the direction of Roxane's farm. He knew he would come back however. He knew he would return here after he had visited Dustfinger. As his horned marten clawed his way up Farid's trouser leg, Farid glanced back at the house, and saw Meggie's lovely face at the window, looking out with a puzzled expression.

Yes...he would come back, and talk to Meggie. Perhaps she really did miss him after all.

Perhaps.