"Veeran, eh?" The old man's weathered face, rough, like old leather leather, cracked with lines of thought. His tone carried the same confusion when he added, "I know of him, sure. He comes around here quite a bit, working with farmers, you know." A hand, spotted with age and crippled with early stages of arthritis, rose to remove his wide-billed straw hat. The other raked through the small patches of snow-white hair that remained. "But where he lives? Ah, I'm afraid I can't tell you. I'm an old man, you know."

At this, the woman he spoke to smiled. [i]Is that so?[/i] she thought good-naturedly, her blue eyes sparkling with laughter at the stranger's behavior. He was charming, and reminded her quite a bit of her grandfather. Before his passing, he had a habit of of tacking the phrase 'you know' onto the end of just about every sentence. If the old man kept it up, she may not be able to keep the humor to herself.

His words drew her attention once more. "I'm sorry, but I don't recognize you, ma'am. And though my mind's going, you know, I'm not quick to forget a face. Are you from these parts?"

"Thanadan?" came her answer. "No, I'm not."

"So just visiting town to get something from Veeran then?"

Now her smile widened. She gave a small nod, then paused to brush back a few rogue locks of hair. It was blonde, but so sun-kissed that its color was not altogether different from the old man's. "In a manner of speaking. He has agreed to take me as his apprentice. I'll be studying under him."

The man paused, some of the joy leaving his expression. His brown eyes, the woman noted, hardened. This time, when he spoke, there were no light-hearted 'you knows.' "I see. So you're one of them, then?"

Was that hostility that laced his tone? The woman acted in turn, her own smile fading. "One of them?" she repeated.

He had offended, and this was not lost on him. He proceeded more cautiously, but his previous positivity was gone for good. His tone darkened. "A necromancer. We don't have many of your sort here."

"My sort." When she echoed his words, her tone was cold, and bereft of emotion. As a woman in her early thirties, who had lived a life that awarded her all the freedoms she desired, she did not appreciate being treated as an inferior. She would waste no more time on this man. "I'll take my leave then. Good day."

When she turned, she should have kept walking. The old man atop his rickety wagon, with his old grey mare and piss-poor demeanor, did not deserve another word. But she could not resist. "Odd," she added hotly, before rounding on him once more. "I have traveled the world. I have seen [i]your[/i] kind before. But I had been told that Thanadan was an open-minded place. I am left to hope that you are merely the exception."

[hr]

When her anger had waned, Naomi had been left with the satisfaction of putting the old bigot in his place. But she was still without sense of where her future mentor resided. It had been hours before she stumbled upon his shop, and by then, she had nearly run herself ragged; the trip from Caershire had taken longer than she had anticipated. But the woman straightened her loose-fitting travel clothes, squared her shoulders, and sucked in a deep breath before rapping her knuckles against the sturdy wooden door.