Timothy had learned a long time ago that people were willing to pay surprisingly well for someone else to suffer consequences on their behalf. Even in his youth he had always been an enterprising and practical creature. But had he known then what he knew now, well, he probably would have done it anyway. Magic had a cost but he was one of the rare few willing to pay it.

Clairvoyance was the only thing he hated. The visions came unbidden and uncontrollable, often with too little time or not enough information to act upon them properly. He had learned ways to scry a few extra fragments of use out of what was given, but it was rarely ever enough. People praised him for his powers of foresight. If only they knew all of the things he saw that he could do nothing to prevent, all the horrors he witnessed when he closed his eyes.

The visions of the Assistant had appeared frequently. It took much to finally locate her, and surprisingly little to convince her to come and discuss employment. Perhaps she knew she had little place else to go, or perhaps he had managed to play the act of benevolence convincingly enough for once. More likely the former rather than the latter.

Time and age had made Timothy a skeptic and a cynic. He grew more and more adverse to the new and the changing as the years flooded past his domain. Yet the Assistant flowed with it and adapted, an unusual trait in the long lived... and a useful one. She also trusted him more than he felt anybody should. It was true that there was no malice in their arrangement, but he saw her as a useful tool and often played her like a game piece. He even suspected she knew this, yet held no resentment over it.

There were things he did not tell her. Things he outright lied to her about. If only Assistant knew the web of spells he had woven to tether her to the shop so he could pull her back when she vanished. Or the minor little cantrips he had subtly cast on her to insure she could complete the work he would send her to do. She had asked him not to use magic on her and he had agreed to her face and then spun his magic the moment her back was turned. Fauns were liars and tricksters, Timothy was no exception. He was simply a very practical liar. Perhaps that was why he was one of the few fauns left.

And now he was doing it again. He had performed the ritual to pull her back so many times he barely had to think about it. It wasn't easy to reach into the void and fish someone out, but Timothy was well practiced in the art after so many centuries. He searched for that familiar thread he had created and slowly wound it back like a pet on a leash.

She appeared on her feet, a rare thing considering what the transport did to her. She was dressed in tattered rags and held a battered sword in her trembling hands. At first it looked as if the sword were coated in blood, but the metal itself was a deep rich red. She spun wildly until she caught sight of the faun and then froze, still as a statue. The two of them stared into one another's eyes. There was alarm in her gaze, then confusion, and very slowly an understanding seeped in. Her eyes closed and a universe of expressions danced across her face as she slowly remembered and understood.

The sword lowered and dropped to the floor as she stepped from the circle and wordlessly stumbled past him, following the familiar path up the steps to the attic and to her room. He could see her collapsing in her cot in his mind's eye, burying her face in old familiar scents and textures that she had almost forgotten.

Tim let the blade stay where it had fallen. He could sense a wellspring of magic woven into it, fresh raw magic that his shop could find many a use for. But time had taught the faun a measure of patience. It would keep, and tomorrow another day of work would begin.

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I considered posting this tomorrow, but since all the pieces were finished early, have an Easter present on me.

4x6 original in copic marker and gelpen. The original is for sale at http://littletales.storenvy.com