The thick cape did almost nothing to shield Seamus from the gusts of wind. It might as well have been absent for all it was doing. (That, or his body temperature was too high, making everything seem cold - he didn't want to think about that.) His short frame shivered, but he still Stepped forward, only every few hundred metres, to save himself the nausea that would arise if he travelled a long distance. He wasn't used to travelling very far; his tower and the forest surrounding it always had everything he had needed.

His path took him down river streams and merchant ways. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the familiar warmth of James' magic. It felt like a constant stream of warm water washing over him. His own magic dwelled merrily in his chest, content with his choice of following his ex-apprentice. He was sure it'd become the raging storm like before if he decided to suddenly turn back.

Though he wasn't very pleased with his magic's decision of binding itself to James', he didn't want it to become unstable or corrupted. If it wanted something, it'd get it, else the consequences would be… less than good for him. Seamus didn't like the whole mechanic of magic binding, honestly. That's why he kept to himself in the toast. His magic was always like a small, warm fire, but ever since James sought him out, it'd been more of a forest fire, contained within his veins as it poured around his body. He made a mental note to ask James why he chose Seamus especially for his training. Not that he wasn't flattered.

But it was honestly unsettling for his magic to bind itself to the first mage - untrained at that! - he'd seen in years.

But he couldn't go against it without putting his body in danger of energy spillage. Gods knew he wouldn't do that to himself.

He watched the road pass beneath his own and James' feet as well, slipping in and out of the blacknet's vision to make sure he wouldn't run head first into a tree trunk. Wouldn't be the first time.

Seamus was progressing a lot quicker, his and James' magics already halfway to each other on his mental map. He thought that James might've been just walking instead of Stepping, because it took him a whole moon to get halfway to Ferma. Seamus had been Stepping for only a few hours and he was already halfway to James. The other might've been stopping at villages, though - he must've been hungry and tired throughout the journey.

Seamus simply passed them, making sure to Step far enough behind so be wouldn't be noticed by the villagers. He didn't like the stares he got from people, as if they knew what he was with a single look.

He found quite a nice rhythm to his Stepping, almost gliding from place to place, feet only touching the ground after a Step. His dark cloak must've fee made him look like a shadow m appearing and disappearing in mere blinks.

His eyes raked the surrounding trees and bushes of wildlife. In a few hours, he'd bump into James. What then, he had no idea.

It'd taken until the nightfall for Seamus to come close enough to feel James' magic without concentration. It pulsed among his spine, a pleasant tingle going up and down constantly.

He ended up in a village, despite his obvious distaste. But James' magic was tugging him, as if on a leash. His own magic purred happily by his heart. He walked the streets, passing purple that openly gaped at him. If he weren't wearing his dark cloak, he'd have attracted even more stares; his purple tunic was a clear giveaway of his heritage in the magic hand.

He followed the feeling in his gut - really, James' magic never found a stable place to stay in his body -, like a compass, ending up in front of a tavern, if the sign overhead and the loud, drunken banter coming from inside were of any indication.

He pushed the for open and was immediately flooded with the heavy stench of alcohol in the air, as well as perspiration. It reeked.

Seamus scrunched his nose, looking the place over. It was filled with men and women alike, drinking and singing - loudly. He looked at their faces, stopping once his eyes landed on James, who was sitting at the bar, jug in hand and talking to some man in a colourful robe. Seamus though him a master or a bard, most likely, in a place like this.

He made a beeline for the bar, dodging a growing fight around one of the tables and stopping a plate being chucked in his general direction. He sat on a stool on the other side of James, his magic jumping in his chest. It stirred, pumping through his veins and making the already too-warm-for-pleasure tavern a magma cove. He thought about it as a second heart, one that had a will of its own (and made him hot).

"Hey," he greeted. James jumped, turning to face him with a clear expression of surprise overpowering his features.

"Seamus!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you about something." He glared at the bard over James' shoulder and added, "In private."

James nodded, turning to offer an apology to the man before he stood up and let Seamus lead him out into the crispy night air.

"What happened?" James asked. Seamus smacked his lips, thinking of a good way to word it. "Do you remember when I told you about magics bonding?"

James nodded after a small time, remembering the talk. "My magic bonded itself to yours."