Daring to cease his flight, he turned and peered between the trees. The beast was walking away, its back turned to the apprentice. He considered a moment whether he might survive reentering the woods to see if his companions were alive. A ghastly howl filled his ears as the monster stooped next to a motionless figure draped in yellow. It was Tissa, whose blood now dripped from the beast’s sharp claws. Taren turned away, unable to bear the sight before him. His stomach turned sour, and he hung his head for a long moment. A voice startled him back to reality. “Did ye come oot o’ those woods?” a surprised man asked. Taren looked up to see a farmer dressed in patched clothing. On a rope he led a yellow goat and a black-faced sheep with a red fleece. Strange wool. Staring at the sheep, he could hardly believe his eyes. “Ye didna use magic in thare, did ye?” The farmer looked Taren up and down, making note of his mage’s robe and leather shoulder bag. The flap had come open on the bag, revealing rows of potions strapped neatly inside.
