Tylendel's muscles screamed at him as sweat ran down his face, but he kept his eyes steadily on his attacker. A movement- He ducked to the side, dodging the blade thrust at him. In reflex, his right hand pulled up, launching a blade, and narrowly missing his assailant's throat. She steeped back, and he gained on her. Quickly, she steadied herself, returning to Tylendel with a cold glint in her eye. Tylendel surveyed his surroundings without taking an eye off the intruder. 'This fight is over.' He told himself, as he cleverly leaped off bench, pushing his attacker down and holding his quivering blade to her throat.
Weaponsmaster Kayla rose from the floor, declaring the round his.
"Well done, youngling." She said smiling, "Only a month in training and already you've gotten a good hold on knife combat. Whichever Weaponsmaster you had back at Frelennye taught you well."
Tylendel gleamed under the praise before Kayla sent him on his way back to the Collegium. Weapons work was one of the few things he was succeeding in at Haven. He was falling behind in his classes, realizing how sheltered he had been at home. Classes he thought he'd knew about: history, religions, literature; were at higher level than he could have imagined. But worse than that was the loneliness. Although he had been avoided from fear back home, he had always had Staven. Now the solitude weighed down on him. Even Mardic and Donni were too concerned in their budding romance to pay any attention to him. And the other trainees at court- Well, he wasn't desperate enough yet to sink down to the level of listening to their thoughtless babble.
: Are you so alone Chosen?: A voice in his mind said.
: No, love, never alone when I have you.: He mind-spoke back, his thoughts already brightening. It was true, despite his lack of human companionship, Gala was always there, a constant friend.
: How have lessons been so far?: She asked sweetly. How could he ask for more than this genuine concern?
: An utter disaster, as usual,: He said, his mind-tone revealing his grief. : I don't see how I'll ever get caught up with everyone else.:
: Ah, which's why it takes so many years to become a Herald, sweetling. They have to cram all this information into your mind first.:
Tylendel grinned before ducking into his next class, History. Bard Chadran frowned at him as he settled into his seat. 'Late again?' he thought, wincing inwardly. 'I'll never get the hang of this.'
Luckily the lesson was on something he actually knew about. Affairs in Rethwallen has been of his family's concern for longer then he could remember, and some of the politics Staven and his father discussed had worn off on him. His pride drained back to him as he answered one of the Bard's harder questions correctly, but then slipped away as he realized he had earned the stares of disapproval from some of the students.
His eyes caught on one of the Blue's students who was smiling cautiously across the room at him. Tylendel's look must have softened because he grinned broader, and Tylendel felt an unsettling jolt in his stomach. He looked away quickly, but it didn't help. The image of the attractive older boy was already ingrained in his memory. Short, dark locks framing his rugged face and deep-set brown eyes, and strong build set off his tall frame. Tylendel bit his lip to hinder the flush he felt crawling up his face, and turned quickly back to his notes for the remained of the class.

Tylendel tossed restlessly in his bed, dreams haunting his repose:
'An empty field, cold, and unfeeling lay in front of him. He shivered involuntarily, realizing he was wearing but the thinnest of tunics, and no shoes. The night air hung over him like a blanket, smothering him. Echoes of people talking danced around him, and the hair on the back of his neck rose eerily. He sensed someone behind him, turning to find only shadows.
When he turned again a small, slim shape stood in front of him. He peered into the darkness, trying desperately to make out what it was. Without warning the shape launched itself towards him, a blur of scales and teeth. Though it was of no help, Tylendel recognized it as one of the Pelagir's wry-hunters: the Wrysa. Seconds before it tore into his flesh, a person- was it the same one he had sensed before? -dismissed the shape with a wave of his hand. Tylendel realized it was the boy who had smiled at him that afternoon.
"It's alright, Tylendel," He said, his voice smooth and oily, "I'm here." Then he wrapped his arms around Tylendel, and he surrendered to his embrace…'

Tylendel awoke sweaty and disoriented, his dream rushing back to him as the cool night air calmed his fever. Realizing what had happened in the dream he broke into sobs.
"What's wrong with me?"



A/N: More soon! I promise!