The wheat had finally ripened, and the adults were out with their scythes in the cool autumn air. Too young to help, the seven year-old Allen played Companion for his baby sister, Carlie. Then he heard a pained shout from the field. Surprised, Carlie dropped off. He put her in the house, told her to be good, and ran off to find the shouter.

The people who had been working nearest to the man had already gotten to him, and one of the younger boys was racing to the village. A few moments later, he reappeared, tailed by a green robed man. The Healer! Allen looked at the man's leg. It was all covered in blood, but he thought it just looked messy, not bad.

The Healer arrived and proceeded to briskly wipe all the blood off of the leg, then doused it in anticeptic. He regarded it for a few moments, then declared that the scythe had missed any major muscles or arteries. The surrounding crowd heaved a sigh, he would not be crippled. Then the Healer frowned in concentration, and Allen saw the little muscles and viens start to knit together. I want to be a Healer when I grow up, Allen decided. I want to help people. I'll tell mum tonight so she knows to take me to Haven when I get older.

***

That was Allen's clearest memory as he sat in the cart on the way to Haven, the day he had decided to become a Healer. And now he was finally going to fufill that dream. Oh, yes, he had already gotten training from the village Healer, but the man kept saying that if he really wanted to be taught, he should go to Haven. His clothing bag bounced every time the cart hit a bump, but Allen wouldn't let the other bounce. It held a gittern.

Allen couldn't remember where the gittern had come from, or who had given it to him. It had appeared on his eighth birthday, long after he had already decided to become a Healer. He had kept it anyway, as a hobby, deciding that it wouldn't hurt to use it. He was not minded to have the beautiful thing break, so he kept it in his lap.

The soothing pinging sound of the rain spattering on the cart and the clothes bag bouncing on the floor, combined with the clip-clop of the horses' feet reminded Allen of a jig, and he smiled to himself, imagining his sister dancing to it. Carlie probably would, too. The twelve-year-old had no sense of shame.

The trader called from the front for Allen to get up there, so he hung the gittern on a side hook and clambered out, clutching a cloak tight under his chin. The spring rain was cold, and the city guard standing in front waved them by, obviously intent on getting back into the shelter of the tent.

Allen supposed that Haven looked better when it wasn't water-drenched, but it still was an awe-inspiring sight. The buildings were tall and narrow, and roads twisted and wound. He was glad that, as a Healer-trainee, he probably wouldn't be leaving the Collegia much, and almost certainly not without someone else.

The Palace walls. They were huge! He had never seen anything to match them for size! The trader stopped there, he had no buisiness inside the Palace, and wished to get on with his own. Allen thanked him and went to the gate. "Sir?" he asked the guard. "I've come to enroll as a Healer.' He too waved him in, but stopped him just inside.

"Go to the Palace and follow the wall. Go to the building with a lot of green and the big gardens in front of it. And of course, the Healing sign." Once he had gotten in the Palace walls, it was a choice between having water drench his back or hair. Opting for the one that would dry faster, he let the hoodless cloak slide down, all the time covering the gittern.

"Thank you." The sixteen year-old blond trudged on through the rain.

***

Shiron hummed happily. He had finally finished that song assignment, and Glenwith had taken it, with a slight reprimand to get it done on time the next time. He knew she didn't mean it though. So long as a student handed in the work, the day after at the latest, Glenwith would never get angry.

He looked up, hearing footsteps in front of him. Most people might not have heard it, whoever it was was softfooted, but his sensitive ears had always heard people before he saw them.

The person was probably his age, or at least, they matched Shiron's five-foot six. Nearly shoulder-length gold-blond hair hung in their face, so no facial features were noticeable, but he was fairly sure it was a boy. No girl would be sixteen and flat, or at least, not so far as he knew. Then he saw something that made him smile widely. The boy clutched a gittern in his right hand.

"Hello there," Shiron called. "Come to enroll in Bardic?" The person looked up, the wet hair falling back to reveal a stubborn chin, proud nose and bright green eyes. Gods he'll look good in Scarlets, Shiron thought absently.

"No," the boy said with some confusion, but mostly satisfaction. "I've come to enroll in Healer's."

Shiron stared. His Bardic Gift was telling him that the boy wasn't lying, but why would somebody like him, positively radiating Bardic Gift, want to go to Healer's? Could he not know? "Ah," he finally managed. "I mean, I saw the gittern and…"

The other smiled. "It's a hobby." A Healer who played a gittern?

"Well, if you ever get lonely over at Healer's," he said genially, "just come over to Bardic and ask for Shiron."

"I'm Allen," the blond replied.

"Healer's is right down that path there," he added helpfully. "Takes you right to the door."

"Thank you." He continued on down the path. Once he was out of sight, Shiron took off at a run to Bard Raith's study. If he had anything to do about it, Allen wouldn't be spending much time there.

***

The guard had been right. There was an enormous garden in front of the Healer's Collegium. He walked in and looked around. It was a sparsely decorated room, tiled in cool green and painted green-white. A room designed to soothe. A burly green-dressed man entered the room and looked askance at Allen.

"Can I help you?"

"I've come to enroll at Healer's collegium," Allen said proudly.

"I don't know if we can," the Healer said, almost - regretfully. "Normally we would take you, even though you have no Healing Gift, or at least, only in potential, but –" Allen didn't care that he didn't have the Gift. He had decided to become a Healer, and he would, even if only an herb-Healer. But before he could say that, the Healer was interupted.

A magestic red-robed figure strode in, somehow dry brown hair flapping in the wind. 'What's he doing here?' the figure asked. 'The boy has Bardic Gift!'

Bardic Gift? What did Shiron say about me?