A/N: Just trying to get back into the flow of writing—I've got some longer story ideas, but they're progressing very, very slowly. As always, I remain steadfastly not John Flanagan.
Will was starting to think he was less used to the unexpected than he had previously thought.
The localised windstorm on the trail ahead of him was like nothing he had ever seen. Tug whickered nervously and Will nudged him reassuringly with his foot. It was the work of a moment to nock an arrow on his bow, but he refrained from drawing the bowstring back before it was truly needed.
The windstorm died down to reveal a young man with dark hair, wearing a brown jacket and a red neckerchief. Just for a second Will could have sworn that the man's eyes glowed gold, but he dismissed the thought as absurd. More absurd than the windstorm? his mind whispered.
It must have been the sunlight.
"I'd really appreciate it if you don't shoot me," the man said.
Will blinked but kept his bow lowered. "What just happened? How did you do that?"
"Magic," the man said, which explained absolutely nothing.
"Magic?" Will repeated incredulously.
The man nodded. "Yep."
There was an awkward pause.
"Bit of an odd question, but you wouldn't happen to have seen a stone with a sword in it, would you?" The man shifted, ducking his head slightly. "I seem to have misplaced it."
How did someone misplace a stone? Nevertheless, Will pointed back the way he had come. "It's that way. Probably about a twenty-minute walk."
The sunlight brightened when the man smiled; Will could feel the warmth of it through his cloak.
"Thanks!" the man said. His eyes glowed gold—Will was sure of it this time—and the wind picked up again. "And thanks for not shooting me!" the man called. Will raised an arm to protect his eyes from the flying dust and when he lowered it again the man was gone.
"You're welcome, I guess," he said to the empty air.