The Trader put the finishing touches on the very last nail and put it with the rest with infinite care. There was once a time when she had hated making nails. She had wanted and yearned for more, for a project that required, among other things, magic. She had been a child newly come into her powers, unable to cope with the thought of never having that power at hand. Now, though, she had learned what magic brought with it. She knew better. She had grown into an adult who understood far, far more than she would have thought herself able. She still had the magic close at hand, but … no, she was a lugsha now, a choice she had made.

It wasn't that the magic was no longer available to her. She could still use it if she so wished. But after that horrible day, in which she had decided to abandon her friends, she had used magic but once. And along with the familiarity the magic usually brought had come an overwhelming sense of emptiness and loneliness. She had known, at the time, that all she needed to do was go back. She had known that she would be accepted back without question. But one fault the Tsaw'ha retained was their pride. And she was proud, much too proud to admit that she missed her friends.

So she would spend the rest of her life without touching her magic. A fitting punishment, for one such as her, who had so easily destroyed a once-precious circle when provoked. She had done a wrong, and she would live with the consequences.

She continued making nails.

Unnoticed by her, an innocently-unlabeled envelope slipped under the door.

A young merchant at the Capchen family's headquarters was busy entering data and calculating interests, mindnumbing drudgery that she could do with her eyes closed. She had surprised everyone when she showed up, but her peculiar habits had seemed to have disappeared, and Capchen had been in a state of expansion and needed all the help they could get.

They asked no questions, and she told no lies.

She never handled anything remotely sensitive or important, never rose too high in rank, but that was to be expected. She was still looked upon strangely by those who knew her from before, and she only paid half of her attention to anything she was doing at any one time. The other half was focused on pushing away her magic.

It is one thing to declare a renunciation of magic, but quite another to do it. Especially if you had some difficulty controlling it in the first place. But she managed. As she sorted through the mail sent to the Capchen house, the familiar scent of herbs sprinkled in with letters sent from the Winding Circle seemed to overwhelm her. It took a couple of moments for her to calm down, but by then she had located the source of the smell.

An envelope, addressed in a familiar hand to her. Her hands hesitated over it, before they plucked it out of the stack. She read the words on the address, "To Trisana Chandler" over and over, not quite believing that she was holding it.

Finally, almost reluctantly, she opened it. Her eyes flew over the words of the letter, and she came to closest she had in a long time to losing control of her magic.

This? This ... was terrible.

The noble one, she received her news in person. Winding Circle wasn't far from her Great-Uncle's place, and although she hadn't stepped foot there since her departure, her old teachers did occasionally come to visit. She was usually quite inhospitable, ashamed to meet them because she hated reminders of her past stupidity.

But Niko had come, today, in the middle of the reports her uncle the Duke was receiving, and asked for a private audience with her. Seeing the look on his face, she had agreed.

She had guessed it would be bad, but had not even come to close to imagining its extent. His news rocked the very foundations of her world.

The young thief was the last to hear, the hardest to contact. But one day, as he passed by the garden that he passed each day, he dropped down to touch the leafy plants, an action he permitted himself but once a week.

He never touched his magic. But he ... communed with his plants. And the news they had for him today ...

We shall sorely miss our loss in the passing-away of dear Dedicate Rosethorn of Winding Circle Temple. May she rest in peace. You are especially invited to her funeral, beginning at noon on Midsummer's Day.

Moonstream