It would have been boring, if it weren't so cold. As it was, Shutat kept finding himself envying his brother's Shiva gift. Shivas lived for cold weather, he knew. Erlan probably wouldn't even have worn a t-shirt in this blizzard unless their mother made him. Shutat was thinking that not even leather and three layers of specially-made heat trapping fabric were enough. He was thinking that maybe he should've tried to bring a wall, or at least a tent. It had to be in the teens at least, and the wind chill below zero...

Horner drove the hover, evidently enjoying his day of leadership a great deal. Per regulations, no words were spoken that were not required to convey mission details; they didn't have an instructor in the car with them, but that didn't mean there wasn't a radio transmitter on board somewhere. Shutat wondered if it was only his imagination that his teammates were greatly enjoying his frozen misery. We don't come here. We're not meant to come here. If Hyne had meant fire gifts to come to Trabia, She wouldn't try to freeze us to death every time we visit!

He'd heard that Shivas lived in the open out here - kind of like a northern breed of Tarani. Just to have something for his mind to do, he tried to picture his brother bouncing around this icy wasteland in sealskin shorts waving a spear. It kept his mind off of whether he could still feel his fingers - especially when he added the mental image of his mother giving Erlan's ear a good twist for not being properly dressed. He grinned behind his mask at the thought. It was a good thing this was the field exam; if he passed, he could go home. He did miss Tear's Point. He missed his own kind.

The hover settled into the snow. "We stop here," ordered Horner. "Radar's picking up troops nearby. From here we leg it on foot." He gave Shutat a sour look - possibly envying the mageborn his heavy duty winter gear. "Hope you can keep up."

Shutat nodded; he'd keep up, all right. Once they made Anarishe, there was the possibility of warm rooms and hot drinks. Out here, there was only the certainty of freezing to death. He hopped out of the hovercar, grateful that his boots were high enough to keep out the snow, and drew his sword - a flamberge with a five foot blade. He held it easily in one hand, which seemed to unnerve Ike a bit - the weapons were meant as heavy, two handed things.

Horner, as the squad leader, set the hovercar in camouflage mode and keyed in the 'home' sequence so that it would fly itself back to the missile ship. Their way home led through Anarishe. Shutat was all but blinded by the blowing snow, and knew he would need all of his resources to survive a battle in this frozen hell. So he didn't senseshift to follow his companions' heat trails - he employed the more mundane solution of following them as closely as he dared. His ears picked up the sounds of battle, but he had no idea how anyone could see to fight in this. On the other hand, perhaps human eyes were better than his, under the circumstances. He had no way to know. But he was immensely relieved when a black iron door took shape in the blurry whiteness; they had reached Anarishe.

His squad leader took it upon himself to pound on the thing with his fist. "Open up! SeeDs!"

Shutat stared for a moment - there was a war going on, very close by indeed, and Horner expected to be let in just like that? But the door did creak open, just enough to let the three of them inside. A large bearded man - who, to Shutat's shock, wasn't even wearing gloves - closed the huge door by cranking a winch and came to join them. "What squad?" he asked.

"We are Squad F," said Horner as Shutat and Ike immediately stepped into flanking positions. "We are assigned to wall defense."

"Right," said the man, giving Shutat's excessive gear an odd look. "Stairs up to the wall're behind you," he said in the lilting accent of a lifelong Trabian. "There's dynamite up there, grenades, rockets, whatever. Should be more'n enough."

Shutat certainly hoped so - Ike's expression clearly said he felt he'd just won the Esthar lottery. He was still wrestling with the ease of their entry, until he realized that of course they'd been let in. All three of them wore the black and silver cadet uniforms, with the cross-and-yin-yang emblem of Balamb Garden on their shoulders. The uniforms were very hard to forge and with the Esthari and Galbadians having at it a hundred yards off, it wasn't likely that anyone would opt for a SeeD uniform that would declare both sides their enemy. He climbed the stairway to the wall's top with some reluctance - on the ground he was nicely out of the wind and at least not as cold, whereas on the wall he'd be fully exposed.

His companions evidently didn't think anyone would be caring much about the rules concerning economy of communication while they were up in the wind and snow. Although they ignored him at first, both were quite chatty. Horner in particular had great fun pointing his machine gun at various concentrations of soldiers. "Fuckin' Esthari," he said, spitting over the wall for good measure. "Who're you for, Ike? Galbadia or Esthar?"

The thickset boy regarded what to Shutat were vague shapes in the blizzard. "Galbadia, but only after they get pulped," he said, then grinned. "Sorry, Horner. I'm Dolletian. Got a low supply of patriotism." He turned to Shutat. "Who're you for?"

Almost, Shutat said Esthar. Almost. It was his home nation, and in his way he was proud of that, but he didn't think it was a good idea to admit to it right here and right now. So he played his other card. "Neither," he said shortly. "Human wars are for humans to fight - none of my concern."

The answer made Horner laugh, but Ike looked canny. "Then why SeeD, blue-hair? If our fights aren't your problem, why are you here freezing your balls off?"

Shutat really wished he could lie. It was a skill he had come to have great reason to envy in his human classmates. But being truthful wasn't the same as being honest; he was physically required to be truthful, but honesty was another matter entirely. So, after some time to think it out, he said, "I'm here for me. No one else."

"Thought so," said Horner. "I've seen your kind before. Fuckin' rats, you are. First sign of trouble, first sign you might be wanted by your people to do some honest work, and you disappear." He reached into a box and pulled out a grenade, tossing it idly in his hand as he regarded the war outside. "Thought they said both sides would try to take the town."

Shutat was grateful that his face mask hid his expression - currently, he was busy grinding his teeth. Rats, indeed. I'm not some ab Daear, you jackass. We don't run! Well. He'd signed up, and this was the final test. He just had to get through this alive and with a passing grade, and he could leave these Galbadian losers behind. The thought did not cool his anger enough for his eyes to return to normal, though, and sense-shifted he saw almost clearly through the cold and snow. "Something's coming," he said, trying to make it out. "Something big."

"About time," said Ike, unconcerned. "I doubt they'd let us pass if we just sit on our butts freezing for a few hours while everyone else gets the glory." He picked up a dynamite bundle. "Shit. Fuse. Anybody got a lighter?" He blinked. "Hey, Shutat. You said you set things on fire. Wanna light some of these for us?"

Shutat's eyes faded back to normal; he couldn't hold the sense shift long without getting a headache, and that shape worried him. He pulled a dagger from his sleeve. "I can light this, and you can use it to light your fuses," he said, worried. "But it's a big thing coming. I couldn't see it clearly, but - big. Very big."

Horner's hand clapped down on his shoulder - probably meant to jar him, though it failed at that. "Don't worry, little mouse," he mocked. "These are industrial sticks of dynamite. The miners use them to open shafts and clear or close passages. One bundle will take out anything you saw." He looked out into the snow. "Assuming you weren't imagining things. Hyne, you lot are such cowards."

This time, Shutat used his rising ire - when his eyes shifted he looked past his squad leader into the blizzard, hunting out that large shape. Stared at it to fix its location in his mind when the eyeshift faded. "There," he said, pointing. "Look, damnit. You can see it now - that's not a cloud, Horner!"

Ike was looking, too. "Holy shit. You win, Horner. The Galbadians'll win. How they got it here - but that's a tank. They brought a fucking tank." Immediately he started gathering dynamite bundles. "Shu, you do that flamey thing. You'll be able to throw farther than we can, right? Take out that tank! If it reaches us- "

"Aren't we forgetting who's in charge here?" snapped Horner. "They won't use the tank on us, dipshit. They'll run over the Esthari cyborgs with it."

A flicker of thought and the edges of Shutat's dagger flared into red flame. "Give the order," he said quietly. "It's not going after the Esthari, Horner. I can see it. It's going to take this wall down. And we're on the wall. We'll get crushed!"

Ike looked ready to give Horner a shake, his eyes transfixed as Shutat's were on the dark shape approaching. "Horner - come on man, I don't care what he is, I want to get out of this alive, pay attention would you?"

Horner did, eventually, deign to look at what was horrifying his subordinates. Took a further fifteen seconds to verify their report that yes, the tank was heading for the wall. Nodded. "Right. Ike, you're on grenades. Shutat, get on that dynamite. We've got to stop that tank."

Shutat had only been waiting for the order. He touched fuses to his flaming dagger, hurled bundles of dynamite as close as his strength could get to the approaching tank. Ike was raining a veritable exploding shrapnel hail of live grenades. Horner's machine gun scythed down approaching enemy soldiers.

The tank stopped.

"We got it?" asked Horner, confused at its behavior as Shutat lit another bundle.

"It's still upright," Shutat pointed out as he threw it. "I want it in pieces."

Ike's jaw dropped. "Shit," he said faintly. "Oh, shit. Get it gone Shutat! It's not dead, it's gonna fire!"

"What?" asked Shtuat, shocked. Quickly, he threw his last bundle of dynamite and verified his companion's words - the tank was taking aim. Any shell fired at the wall had a good chance of killing all three of them. And - he judged the arc - his last throw wasn't going to be able to stop it, either.

The next few seconds felt like years.

Shutat grabbed both of his companions by the collars of their uniforms and threw them as hard as he could away from the wall. He wasn't aiming for anything, and the wall was high, which meant they might die of the fall - but there wasn't time to aim for soft landings and it was at least a chance, whereas staying put was certain death. And then he himself leaped away from the wall with all his strength. Distance was key - the wall was stone, and if it was blown apart any flying chunk of it could kill on impact.

Somewhere in midair, a deafening noise and a sudden push from the air behind him shoved him forward. He let it, remembering wind-riding with his mother as a child. The trick was to make the air hold you, carry you.

The air wasn't his problem. In the end, his problem was a building.

Shutat opened his eyes to a wonderful, blessed feeling of utter warmth, such as he had not felt since the transport. Warmth through every vein, every limb. Opened his eyes, and found - Ike, casting spells.

"Oh, good," Ike said, relieved. "Thought I'd lost you too. The wall's toast, Shutat. Galbadians're causing one hell of a row in the streets. It's a bust - the mission's a bust."

"No one passes," Shutat sighed, moving his arms and legs just enough to realize he felt pretty much pulverized. He looked around. He was on a pile of snowy rubble - which told him he'd better get up fast, before he got snow-burn - and recognized not a single thing. "Where are we? In Anarishe, I mean. Where's Horner?"

"Dead," said Ike with a wince. "I went looking for him first. His head had an argument with a wall, and the rest of him had an argument with another wall about two seconds later." He shrugged. "Deling bastard. Anyway, I got luckier than either of you two - landed on a roof, and a big fat snowdrift. Less distance, plus cushion, plus junction - a few spells and I was fine."

Shutat looked up, and around. "And I..."

"Hit a wall with your back," said Ike, pointing out a snow-free patch of wall above them. "Pretty hard, I'd guess. Any ideas for getting us out of here? Like you said - the wall's breached, Galbadia's got the town, nobody passes. I'm all for living to try again next year."

"Good notion," said Shutat, getting to his feet. He was impressed - his winter uniform hadn't ripped. Whoever his mother had found to make it for him, he needed to make sure they got lots and lots of customers. He drew his flamberge, and decided that if his sword wasn't broken then maybe his uniform hadn't been in that much danger. "I set this on fire, are you going to mind?"

"I'm counting on it," said Ike. "I'm no big fan of you guys, you know, but I'm even less a fan of having my intestines roasted on a stick. Just get me out alive, I'm not sayin' nothin' to nobody, okay?"

Reasonable enough, thought Shutat with a nod. "I keep you alive, you keep me alive," he said. "The sword will draw them - it's bright, and for Hyne's sake we're in Trabia. I'm probably the only fire gift for a thousand miles."

"Deal," said Ike. "Only do it now, cos - well, you and the blast got us a long way and the Anarishe aren't giving up without a fight, but we'll be up to our ears in soldiers any minute now."

Shutat whirled his sword in his hand, and it flamed to life. Speed - that was the trick. Go quickly, and the enemy often didn't know what to make of you until you'd passed. It was their only chance.

Flaming swords were dramatic, but Shutat had already learned they weren't as useful as they first appeared. A flaming sword often cauterized a wound as it made it - meaning that unless Shutat cut off something vital, his foes often lived. This was wonderful for his conscience, especially when confronted with kin that were inclined to call him a butcher for signing up with the Gardens, but it was an extreme liability in actual combat. And he couldn't hold the flame for very long - a few minutes at most, even in a crisis situation. Which this most certainly was. He bent the entirety of his will on one thing - getting out of Anarishe - and fought with everything he had. He barely noticed individuals - only weapons, only attacks. Cut off the hand, the arm, the head, whatever came close. Blades that came near him he set on fire, trying to scare their owners into dropping them.

His head was starting to hurt; he'd held the fire too long. But if I stop now, I die. Headache is better than death! Which sounded great on paper, but in practice wasn't always true. Still, headaches could be cured...if he could focus through them. People were coming, as he and Ike fought their way through the town. To what had been the gates. Cadets were rallying to the flaming sword, visible at far greater distance in the snow than were uniforms. Hah. The only fire gift for a thousand miles! He was a beacon to ally and enemy alike, even if none of the people that came to him liked him or his kind.

He had to stop. The pain was reaching a point near nausea. He ducked into a defensible alley and slumped against a wall - even the ice-burn being better than the pain in his head. "Can't...hold the fire," he gulped.

Ike took the hint and started casting cure spells. "Well, we're near out of town," he said, and looked around. "Who the hell are you guys?"

"I'm what's left of Squad B," said one girl, raising her hand. "I'm only here at all because I've got my squad's junction."

Shutat paid no attention to the introductions as Ike gathered information. All of his focus was on trying to see through a very ugly migraine. He couldn't stop here. Couldn't afford to. They had only a minute or two before they had to move on, try to get out. Prisoners of war were expensive to redeem, and Garden would not be pleased to have to rescue them.

"They're stragglers, survivors of the blast," said Ike. "About half with junctions, the other half just real damn lucky. I think we can get us all out."

"What is this we bullshit?" growled Shutat, irritated. "Everyone'll be following me and you know it. Following the sword."

"Well, yeah," shrugged Ike. "It's visible, and we need that. The transports'll see it too, come to it. But we'll keep you alive, and you'll keep us alive, and it'll all be peachy." He seemed to note Shutat's pained look for the first time. "If you can? I don't know how many cure spells we have..hey, wait. You're a fire gift, we can cast fire on you and it'll do the same trick, won't it?"

Shutat's expression was almost bland - mostly as a result of his headache. "It will also burn my clothes off," he said shortly. "And I will then proceed to freeze to death in very short order. Stick to cure spells, please."

"Time to go," said one of the cadets, near the alley's entrance. "We're running out of time."

"Showtime," said Ike cheerfully, as if Shutat could just whistle them all to safety.

I wish I had the nerve to leave you bastards here to rot, grumbled Shutat to himself. He wouldn't, he knew. He'd never sleep again if he did something like that. Still, he hated feeling like a doormat. Not two words for me the whole damn time I train at Garden, and now I'm everyone's best friend. But if they kept him alive he really had no room to argue. He knew he couldn't get out alone. Taking a deep breath, focusing as carefully as he could, he brought the flame to life again and ran out of the alley.

Adrenaline did help the headache, anyway. Focus, focus, focus. He couldn't afford to lose the fire again - he had a vague impression of space, and realized they had managed to leave the boundaries of Anarishe. Some of the enemies were robotic now, Esthari cyborg soldiers. He felt less guilt over killing them - on the one hand, they were Esthari, and he'd someday go back to Esthar. But on the other hand, they only had human brains. All the rest was machine. He tried for the head or legs when he could, since cyborgs felt no pain. Focus, focus, focus.

There was a place beyond pain that he'd only ever reached once. A heightened state where he could access his true Gift and use it.

A Bahamut-gift wasn't just a Fire gift like Ifrit. The Bahamut-gift, at full strength, had the gift of time. Somewhere in all the fighting, he broke through the pain barrier and touched the Gift, and the red flame of his sword burned bright blue-white.

Draiganadl, he'd named it. Dragonfire, hotter than any forge flame, any Ifrit-fire. Hot enough to burn through steel - though it never seemed to burn the blade to which it was called.

Under draiganadl he felt no pain. Felt, actually, perfect clarity. He could see what his enemies were going to do an instant before they did it, letting him work with great economy of motion and effort. To any observer it looked like his enemies just happened to put themselves in the path of a randomly swinging blade, but it was time that was the key. Shutat could see into the future, just the necessary few seconds he needed to in order to anticipate.

Keeping track of time was harder, especially in combat, and most especially under draiganadl. It might have been forever. It might have been only a few minutes. But Ike - who had been steering him with nudges here and there along the way - ran ahead of him and what had been registering as a wall became an open door. They'd reached the transport. Cadets rushed past him as he lowered his flaming sword, dazed.

I made it. I'm safe. I'm alive.

The flame died, the light in his eyes dimmed. The cold sword dropped from numb fingers to clatter on the steel grating. The strange sensation of knowing present and future faded with them. Searing, blinding pain rushed into the void.

Just inside the door of the transport, Shutat fainted.

Chugi wheeled carefully down the narrow corridors. Just his luck to catch the bullet spray with his side and not his chest; the medics had used enough magic to save his life, but he was wheelchair bound until all the cadets who could be treated were tended to. The mission was an utter botch - full SeeDs had been trying to collect fleeing cadets for the past several hours.

He was only interested in finding two. But finding two cadets, in the chaos of the failed mission, with himself in a wheelchair, wasn't easy.

"Yeah, we just followed the sword," a cadet said to a medic as his arm was bandaged. "He was going the right way, anyway, hard to miss."

"That should do it," said the medic, fastening the bandage-end in place.

"Whose sword?" Chugi demanded, wheeling up close to the cadet. "Shutat? You came with Shutat?"

The cadet's grin was wry. "Well, not with, I wouldn't say with, but in the general vicinity of."

Chugi was not in the mood for the word games Shutat tended to inspire in other cadets. "Fine. Where is he?"

"Like I'd know?" asked the cadet, affronted. "See me hanging around with mageborn? Not fuckin' likely, friend. I just used his sword as a beacon. Nothing personal."

"It's about to get personal," growled Chugi, reaching up to pull his 'friend' down with his good arm until they were eye to eye. "I'm gonna use little words, and right now any wisecracks about size are gonna really piss me off, I'm warning you. Where. Is. Shutat?"

"Hey now, settle down," said the medic, alarmed. "Shutat - that's the mageborn that came with you? He took the test?"

Chugi turned in surprise. "Came with us?" he asked incredulously. "You've gotta be Trabian. Yeah, that's Shutat. Have you seen him? Or Naia? She's a martial artist, brown hair, brown eyes, about so big...?"

The medic grinned. "Yes, I'm Trabian. We're not all mighty magic users, you know. Some of us have day jobs!" He pointed toward the hatchway. "The mageborn is out cold in the entranceway. We weren't sure whether or not to move him. He wasn't bleeding and nothing seemed broken, and..." he shrugged and indicated the wealth of serious injuries all around. "We've been busy." He reached over to his tray and picked up a potion bottle, which he handed to Chugi. "Spells are the only thing they can use," he said matter of factly. "This should help whatever dropped him." His tone turned curious. "He's really studying to be a SeeD? How odd. You'll have to tell me about it sometime when I'm not on duty."

"Yeah, yeah, sure sure," said Chugi, snagging the bottle and tucking it between his thighs for safekeeping, so that he could use both hands to wheel himself toward the hatchway. "Some other time." Stupid magic-obsessed Trabians. Shutat wasn't like other mageborn, that was why he was there in the first place, but people never got all the other things...

Chugi wheeled over more than one set of suddenly-distressed toes on his way to the hatchway. Cadets were still coming in, bloody and weary, but arrivals were infrequent. Just inside the doorway, off to one side - just enough that he wasn't impeding the traffic flow - Shutat lay on the grating that served as a floor, his sword a little way away. His uniform wasn't ripped, so Chugi assumed he wasn't bleeding or cut, but good grief even as overworked as the medics were, they shouldn't have left him on the floor...

"Shu?" he asked, quietly. The cadet had followed Shutat's sword, which meant he'd set it on fire. Chugi well knew the kind of headaches his roommate got after doing that for any length of time. "Shu? You awake?"

When no answer was forthcoming, Chugi sighed and pulled his wheelchair alongside his friend. Reaching down from his own uninjured side, he inelegantly hauled Shutat up off the floor and across his lap. "Get you looked at," he grunted. "Damn that leather's heavy..."

It was. Enough that he was busy trying to breathe and roll the wheelchair, and ignored the catcalls from more alert cadets as he rolled by them. Shutat stirred as they rolled down the corridor, and gave Chugi an odd look as he realized he was essentially being cradled.

"You were out cold in the entranceway," said Chugi, very quietly. "Can put you right back there if it'll make you feel better."

Shutat's expression clearly said he couldn't care less where he was. "Head," he gulped.

"Got a potion here somewhere," Chugi whispered back. "But if I go fishing for it people're gonna ask you when we're getting married and I don't need that kind of light on my dating life right now."

The humor completely passed Shutat by. "Sit..down somewhere," he said, barely audibly.

Chugi considered his options. The farther away from the entrance they went, the less likely a room was to be occupied with injured or resting cadets. On the other hand, it meant carrying Shutat on his lap past most of Garden. Resigning himself to a few weeks of explaining to female cadets that no, he really wasn't dating his roommate, he wheeled them into what normally served as a meeting room. "Think you can get up onto the table on your own?" he asked. "I'm kinda stuck here, till they've got all the cadets they can."

Shutat managed to wobble to his feet just long enough to stretch out on the meeting table. "Better," he breathed. "S'quieter here."

His lap now free of encumbrance, Chugi fished out the potion bottle and handed it over. "One of the Trabian medics sends his regards."

Shutat's hands - still in heavy leather gloves - made short work of the seal on the potion bottle, and he gulped the fluid down quickly. "Hyne," he said softly. "How long was I out? What time is it?" He turned his head, evidently noting his friend's condition for the first time. "And what the hell happened to you? Where's Naia?"

"Must've been an elixer," Chugi grinned. "I don't know how long you were out. Check your watch and do the math is the best I can do there. Me...well, when the wall blew my squad leader said the hell with it and started trying to get us out. Him and the other guy we were with got most of the way between me and a ton of bullets at high speed." He shrugged, his expression closed off. "They died fast. I passed out from - " he indicated his newly healed side, "and I guess somebody recognized me - or my tat - cos the next thing I know I'm here and some doctor's shoving potions down my throat. I haven't a clue where Naia is. Thought I'd get you, then go look for her."

Shutat pulled off his leather hood, bluish-white curls spilling out onto the table. "Thanks," he said. "My head's still killing me, but I think I'll be okay after some sleep. I had the fire all the way from Anarishe to here."

"Then that was an elixer," said Chugi, indicating the bottle. "I'll tell that medic thanks if I can find him again. You wait here, and I'll try to find Naia."

"Yeah," agreed Shutat tiredly, and Chugi wheeled himself out again.

Shutat could feel the elixer flowing through him - trust a Trabian medic to remember that standard medications wouldn't have worked. But the problem with magical remedies was that they drew on the body's own reserves to function; his headache was gone, but he'd been near exhaustion from hours of close combat under draiganadl to start with. He didn't think he could move if his life depended on it.

Lines, white lines in the air. Not rigid lines, ruler drawn, but fluid lines - like threads. The threads move in different directions and at different speeds, converging and separating and making patterns complex and breathtakingly beautiful, which stretch in all directions as far as the eye can see. He is one of the threads, moving forward and reaching back, entwined with some threads and separate from others. He reaches out with pale fingers to touch his thread, but it burns to ash in his hand. The fire that burns it burns all along the gathering of threads, the knots, and some wither and fade while others endure the flames unharmed...

Abruptly, the threads and fire were gone. Shutat blinked repeatedly, feeling a cold that had little to do with his body's sensations of temperature. Vision. That was a vision. He hadn't had a clear, solid vision since childhood - since before he'd been called on to light his father's pyre. But why now? he wondered, worried. It was his Gift, but ...there were problems with that.

"You made it!" chirped Naia's happy voice into his thoughts. Unlike her friends, she seemed entirely unhurt - and she laughed at Shutat's derailed look of surprise. "I had the team's junction," she explained. "We were one mean magic using machine, really. Blue mage, berserker mage, and me! I think we were one of the few teams that didn't lose anyone." She paused. "Though we couldn't hold our position. Terence said we should get out while we could when Anarishe got overrun, so that's what we did."

Shutat was relieved to have something to smile about. "Glad one of us did okay," he said. "You might even make SeeD."

Naia perched on the table near Shutat's head. "Of course you two'll make SeeD," she said, "Don't be silly. Just because old prune-butt said nobody'd pass if Anarishe fell, don't you bet on it. It'd kill morale to do that, and the Commander won't stand for it."

Chugi snickered, and Shutat was trying not to - he was too sore to enjoy it. "Prune Butt Almasy. Damn, I like that."

"Anyway," said Naia firmly, as if there could be no question, "you'll both make it if I do. If anyone does." She ruffled Chugi's short red spikes. "Come on, since when has a Dincht not passed the exam first go? Can you imagine the fuss your folks'd put up if the Headmaster tried to hold you back?" She wagged a finger over Shutat's nose, causing him to cross his eyes trying to keep track of it. "And you. You know perfectly well that half the Instructors want you gone as quickly as possible. Since they can't kick you out, of course you'll pass. Now quit with the nonsense, and I'll go see if there's a cocoa dispenser on this ship. We should be back to Garden soon."

She bounced out again, and the two boys enjoyed the moment of silence.

"Where'd you find her?" asked Shutat after a while.

"Coffee machine," Chugi admitted ruefully.

"You know...I believe you," Shutat replied, and settled back to nap. "But I'm going to nap until they drag me off this table."

"Good notion."