The first few months passed quickly for the two new companions.
Pitch called Sanderson 'Sandy' for short. His explanation that since 'The Man in the Moon' had given him a nickname, he would give both Sanderson and his lunar benefactor nicknames too.
Sandy never found out Pitch's real name. The boy always smiled and said 'Pitch Black' was who he was now and he liked it. Nothing from before that mattered.
It certainly did not matter to Sandy.

Sandy taught him what he called 'The Golden Rules'. Pitch wasn't a Guardian like he was but since he would be acting as an apprentice of sorts, it made sense to indoctrinate him just as Sandy had been.
Don't be seen. Don't interfere. Don't misuse your powers.
Before Sandy had first come to Earth, Tsar Lunar had given him a much longer briefing: about the humans that lived on the planet etc.
This hadn't been necessary with Pitch. When Sandy had transformed him, he had taken the liberty of sharing some of his memories with the boy. As a result, Pitch could function as well as any human despite never having been one before.

Sandy's job was to spread dreams to the children of the world. It was both a great honour and a rewarding task. Tsar Lunar had chosen Sandy specifically to safeguard this planet which he had faithfully and fondly watched for centuries. That said, Sandy had often felt lonely. Lunar had promised there would be other Guardians eventually but a promise was poor company.

Pitch was a capable student, intelligent and articulate while also possessing a childlike wonder at the world around him.
This sometimes meant it was difficult to get him to concentrate. He was always poking through cupboards and dark shadowy places. Purely out of curiosity.
Sandy had once advised him of the old adage 'knowledge is power' and he had taken it to heart. The town library was one of his favourite haunts on those occasions he went exploring without Sandy. Many times Sandy would float past the window to check on him and find him sitting beside a pile of tomes, engrossed in the world of words.

However there were stumbles on their road together.

Pitch could not get the hang of dreamsand.
Every time he touched it, it fell to the ground in thick black clumps. Sandy had even tried creating a sand unicorn and encouraging Pitch to move it. As soon as he had tried to, it had warped into a hideous shadow horse. Pitch had been so frustrated that he had swatted it into a million pieces.
As Sandy had gathered them, returning them to their golden glow, he had tried to reassure the boy. It took time to master the sand. It took patience.
Pitch had just laughed, saying it hadn't bothered him and he would try again when he was less tired.
He never tried again.
Instead, when he accompanied his teacher on his nightly rounds dispensing dreams to children, he kept a lookout for alert parents or slipped inside houses as a shadow to give Sandy easy entry.

Pitch had kept his shape shifting abilities but could not seem to manage wholesome forms.
A large spider or a wolf was no problem. A bunny or a butterfly were serious challenges. However he had managed a moth with tattered wings and a lean hare after a few hours intense practice. His powers were likely tuned to his personality. With his reserved nature and intense mind, appearing as an energetic puppy or a colourful, flitting butterfly would have been blatant lies.
It was like asking an undertaker to be a clown.
Pitch liked flying the most. Often Sanderson saw him flying as a glossy raven, swooping and diving as he caught the moonlight on his wings. Pitch loved the moon: it had been the first thing he had seen with his new eyes.

But after a while, this fondness began to show the tell-tale signs of obsession. He would ask Sandy questions about The Man in the Moon every night. Sandy answered as best he could but admitted he did not have all the answers. He was just one of Tsar Lunar's many servants after all. He disliked the term 'soldier'. It seemed at odds with his peaceful task.

Pitch also had a bad habit of eavesdropping and relished in telling Sanderson what gossip he had uncovered. Sanderson reprimanded him for it but not too harshly. He was young after all and when you could not be seen or heard, the damage that could result from a bad habit here and there was minimal. Besides some of the techniques he used to uncover information were impressive such as hiding in shadows or appearing as a ghostly image in mirrors.

It was during one summer evening, sitting on top of the town chapel rooftop, that Pitch admitted another source of information. It began with a simple question but the answer had and has astounded humans for eons.

'Why am I here?'

Pitch lay, hands behind his head with Sandy perched on the sill of the bell tower beside him. The rivers of dreamsand were flowing freely throughout the town.

'I suppose that is up to you', Sandy replied. He knew Pitch had been deep in thought lately and had expected something like this sooner or later.

'It just would be nice to have some idea of what I'm meant to do', Pitch sighed, 'and I need to prove that your trust in me is well placed'.

'I know it is. You don't need to prove anything to me'.

'Not to you. To him', Pitch said, pointing to where a crescent moon hung behind a cloud, 'Does he ever talk to you?'

'Sometimes in dreams or through the sand but they are short conversations'.

'I don't dream. He only spoke to me once'.

'I remember'.

Pitch stood up abruptly.

'I'm not like you Sandy', he stated.

'What is on your mind?' Sandy asked, cutting to the chase.

Pitch looked at his hands and flexed his fingers.

'I can't touch the sand without ruining it'.

'It is simply a matter of practice'.

The fingers curled into fists and Pitch pivoted to face his teacher. His face was tight, eyes burning with sadness and frustration.

'But I do practice! I can feel it want to move for me. It just doesn't work for me the way it works for you!'

'It is like your shape changing. We all have our talents and -'

Pitch clapped his hands loudly and continued his tirade.

'That's another thing! Why can't I manage a butterfly? They're tiny! How is it I can transform into a dragon but I can't make myself a stupid butterfly?!'

'And why do you want to be a butterfly? Are you unhappy with being yourself?'

'I'm not in the mood for your stupid philosophy questions!'

'Calm down Pitch'.

Pitch seemed about to retort but Sandy's stern face brooked no further outburst.
He sank back to the roof, drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. He was a tall youth but right now, he looked small and lost. Sandy resisted the urge to touch his shoulder: Pitch was wary of contact and in his state of mind, it would most likely just upset him further.

'I hear things sometimes'.

The admission was barely above a whisper. Thankfully, Sandy had made a life out of being a good listener.

'Things I don't want to'.

'What kind of things?'

'Like whispers in my head', Pitch elaborated, tapping his head with one finger, 'Only without sound'.

He attempted a laugh but it came out hollow.

'You probably think I'm crazy'.

'You are still young. Maybe it is another kind of magic: trying to help you figure out what you are here to do'.

'Maybe'.

'Does it frighten you?'

'No!'

The answer came too fast and sure for Sandy's liking. Pitch was on his feet again, twirling his staff in faux combat poses.

'It's just annoying. By the way did you know the baker's wife is afraid of him leaving her?'

'What?'

'And he's afraid that she'll find out he's sleeping with the new female schoolteacher. His children are afraid of spiders, the dark and the forest collectively and water, dying alone and birds respectively'.

'Did the voices tell you these things?'

'Some of them'.

Pitch laughed again. This one disturbed Sandy for a different reason. It was spiteful. Dark.

'Everyone in town knows about the baker and the schoolteacher. Funniest part is, so does his wife, she just won't admit it to herself!'

Pitch's laughter trailed off and he looked at Sandy as if awaiting a response. Sandy was perplexed at the behaviour. Was Pitch challenging him? Was it his imagination or had the shadows lengthened around them?
He took a deep breath and answered as neutrally as he could.

'This gift you have could be a worthy weapon in the cause for good Pitch. But with great power comes equally great temptation. Please use it carefully. If you need me, I will do everything I can to help you'.

Just like that, Pitch's smile was genuine again. The night seemed to shrink back and his eyes lost their burning intensity.

'I know Sandy'.

As Pitch sat back down, unbeknownst to him, Sandy was thinking the same thing he was.

'But I don't think you can'.