One of the key elements of working magic was the mastery of one's self, which even the most skilled wizard will tell you it is easier said than done. The way to initially practice was through patience and meditation, something Malcador had been exceedingly bad at. However, he did manage to get marginally better at the task, and only then was he allowed to try and form magic in his mind and with his hands. The key was to not worry on the passage of time. Time was an illusion, his instructors would say. A figment of the universe trying to obscure one from the true vision of reality beyond the veil. Even now it sounded like horsepiss, but he felt he was reliving his lessons while floating down the river. Time seemed to both stretch and hurry, and he faded in and out of focus as the rough woman and he allowed the river to sweep them in what he believed was a southward direction. 

Eventually, as the white overcast sky began to grey from the lowering of the sun, Malcador hit something in the water that snagged his foot. Immediately the mental image of a river troll burst into his mind, but after a few moments of panic, he realized it was the root of gnarled oak. It woke him up, however, and he desperately whirled around in the water to see if the brown haired woman had disappeared or unceremoniously drowned. Initially he couldn't see anything except the shorelines and the derelict forest around him, but after a moment he saw her floating form drawing closer. He splashed to get closer, and grabbed at her doubtlet. She began to thrash, and pulled a pistol out. But seeing who it was that grabbed her, and the wet powder, she put it away. Wordlessly, they swam to the eastern shore a few paces away. 

The water had cleaned them of most of the blood and mud, but they were wet and tired. Their shoes slapped the earth as they stumbled out of the river, Malcador catching himself with a branch. "Smell like a bilge street sewer," the woman spat. Malcador thought it was a bit of an exaggeration, but the water could definitely had been cleaner. 

Suddenly he felt something that turned his face white. A slimey, slithering thing in his robes. It flopped back and forth, and yet again his mind conjured images of a snake or some chaos abomination, but as he stripped the top of his robe off, a large bass flopped out. Malcador tried to grab it, but the wriggling thing slipped from his fingers, flying into the air. The woman dived, grabbing at it, and after two tries she managed to nab its tail and swing it to smack into a tree, ending its struggles. Despite that, she curled her lip at it in distaste. 

"Well, we have dinner at least." Malcador deadpanned. 

"'We'? [i]I[/i] caught it." She remarked pointedly, despite her reservations. 

Malcador was about to remind her [i]he[/i] technically caught it, but he wasn't about to play that sort of game. Instead he looked at her and channeled his rage into a simmering reply. "Very well, let us part ways then." He threatened. She opened her mouth, almost as if she were about to tell him to sod off, but she realized the better of it. Having a wizard as a companion was better than being caught in the wilderness alone.

"Sigmar's balls," she said quietly, before apologizing. "I'm sorry magister. I'm short tempered." The wizard took that to mean that she was short tempered currently. Later he would find out she meant in general.

Malcador calmed as well, too tired to fight. "It's all well, I think we both are after this hell of a day." he said. "And I'm not a magister, even if there's a nice ring to it." 

"What are the odds we have dinner, yeah?" She asked, catching up to him. She handed him the fish without prompting, and after a moment of feeling clammy, he wrapped the catch up in his robes, leaving his torso exposed. Malcador wasn't a big or muscled man, more used to scholarly work. But the harsher lessons and curriculum at the academy and the light provisions gave him a lean look, and he did his best to keep it for his vanity. No use being a pretty man with a big paunch, he thought. 

"I would have rather my fortune spell grant me something else, but I won't complain too loudly." He said. 

"You can cast a spell that brings good fortune?" She said, disbelief evident. 

"It's not as glamorous as it sounds, Fraulien." He said as they trudged southwards. "We're still in this Sigmar-damned mess."