Smalls woke, startled, to Wilfred pounding on the door. Apparently, he’d been asleep for over fourteen hours. He felt much better though, his headache nearly gone. Wilfred went to the library, leaving Smalls to his own devices for the two hours left of the morning……which in other words meant wandering around to get a feel for the place and discovering which places he should not be found. He was lucky not to have any run-ins. At other citadels, he’d nearly gotten into fights simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He got a few odd looks, as he obviously was not from Cloud Mountain, but no one stopped him or attempted to talk to him.  

            Smalls finally walked down to the Savory Den, and discovered he was one of the last patrons.

            After convincing one of the apprentices to hand over the last bits of breakfast, he settled into a corner to wait out the morning. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out Evan’s latest letter.

Smalls,

Blackstone is a pain. And when I say pain, I mean massive, ignoring-everything-you-say kind of pain. Lord Ronan is terrible, and his eldest son is worse. Huh, that’s got to be a trend now, right? The oldest being the most infuriating? Anyways. You know I can’t say much in case someone intercepts this letter, but what I will say is that it’s bad over here. There’s this flu thing going around that’s got everyone in a temper, and it’s becoming almost impossible to get by the guards, which is annoying because you know I hate being stuck indoors about as much as you like being stuck underground.

I wish I could say I was getting along well but I’m not. History’s a bore and I failed my last exam. I don’t know why you like it. I wonder-is Wilfred still making you practice mental math? Truff-head captain-seems to think I’m always up to something, even though I’m not. He’s just way too easy to annoy, and I can’t help it. The frog thing was too hysterical not to share.

Oh-Asher’s over here too, for right now. He’s going on and on and on about ‘following rules’ and ‘obeying protocol’ so he hasn’t changed much, if you catch my drift. But it’s nice to see him again. He wants me to say hello for him, since, apparently, he ‘hasn’t got time to write and you don’t have time to read because of final exams’. I told him you wouldn’t care since you probably weren’t taking them this year anyways, but he insisted.

He's making me study. Scratch what I said earlier, maybe it’s not such a good thing he’s here. Oh well. If word comes to you that I’m dead, blame Asher and his incessant study habits.

I’m tagging along to the Citadel Congress no matter what Ronan says, and he doesn’t have the energy to stop me anyways. He’s one of the ones worst down with the flu. Now if only his son would get sick too….

Oh, and, uh, I’m courting Charity officially now. Don’t tell Wilfred. I need to explain it to him myself. She doesn’t want me to go but she knows I will, and I’m hoping it won’t cause too much trouble. Between me, her, or Wilfred. I know he’d like to be told but I don’t want him to know unless it turns into something serious. And besides, I think he’d like to hear it from me rather than from you. Don’t shoot the messenger, right? Hope life isn’t treating you too poorly,

Your brother,

Evander Joveson

That last part surprised Smalls more than he thought it would. And Evan’s adamance against Wilfred knowing worried him and made him more than a bit suspicious over what his older brother had gotten into this time. At least Asher’s there to curb him. Asher and Evan were opposites. One a hyper rule-follower, and the other more than happy to shatter centuries of traditions for a little fun. Smalls had a decidedly unique family.

            Blackstone didn’t surprise him at all, nor did Asher’s insistence on study. But Evan was right, Smalls wasn’t taking exams that year, since he’d taken double the year before. He sighed, partially because he sincerely wanted to know what the ‘frog thing’ was, and partially because Evan seemed to truly hate taking good advice. Well, he’d be seeing him in a few months, and maybe he’d manage to talk some sense into him then. In the meantime, he stood and walked out into the hall. He was just moving to head back to his room when he was stopped by Pacer.

            The older rabbit gave him a hard look, and then said,

            “That’s a First Warren uniform you’re wearing.”

Smalls glanced down at himself. “It is.” He responded.

            “No one’s been in or out for several months now.” Pacer said. Huh? Since when? Smalls steeled himself and lied through his teeth, attempting to make the fib realistic enough to be bought by an officer.

            “I haven’t been in the capital for over a year, sir.” Remembering his manners seemed to take away a bit of Pacer’s temper.

Pacer squinted at him.“Where’s your rank patch, son?”

Smalls hesitated, unsure of how to explain that particular overlook. But really, wearing his rank patch would rather give away who he was, wouldn’t it? I hate stupid questions, He thought irritably.

            “I forgot it.”

Pacer quite obviously did not believe him but didn’t seem able to find a retort. Smalls wasn’t a soldier under him, and he didn’t have any ability to order him to do anything. Pacer muttered something under his breath, something that sounded a whole lot like blasted Longtreaders and strode off without another word. Smalls resisted the urge to retort with something snarky about how he wasn’t a Longtreader, and instead moved on his way down the hall.

He wandered around some more and eventually found a gardener (Heyward was his name, if Smalls remembered correctly) who was willing to explain some actual directions around the place. Shortly after that, he discovered Wilfred on the village green’s archery range.

            “Bored?” Wilfred asked, “Already?”

Smalls shrugged, leaning against a post. “Pacer doesn’t like you very much, does he.” He replied, ignoring Wilfred’s jab.

Wilfred nocked another arrow and said, “He’s only doing his job. It isn’t his fault.”

            “You didn’t do anything.”

Wilfred sighed. “I’m not interested in having this debate again, Smalls. If you’re looking for something to do you can join me here or go figure out wherever my niece and nephew have gotten off to.”

He’s in a mood, Smalls decided. He lingered, and eventually took up a bow.

            There was a loud commotion coming from across the green. Shouting, and the sound of a crowd. Wilfred glanced at Smalls, and took off running in that direction. Smalls paused a moment, slung a quiver over his shoulders, and followed, quickly catching up.

            Lord Rake practically ran into them on the way in.

            “What’s going on?” Wilfred shouted over the noise of the crowd. Rake’s face was dark and angry.

            “Helmer!” He spat. Smalls’ eyes widened. He’d heard enough of the old Lord-Captain to know that this would not end well. Wilfred’s face twisted in frustration. They dove into the crowd.

The scene unfolded as the crowd parted for the three rabbits. Helmer was underneath a tree rippling with fake enemies. Unfortunately, though they were fake, the knives they had for claws, fangs, and talons were very real, very deadly, and very eager to kill the black rabbit. Nine pumpkin-headed birds were descending upon Helmer at an alarming speed from dangerous heights.

            Rake was the first to jump into the fray. He never stopped-leaping high and landing on one of the birds about to commit murder. Smalls did not see what happened next but Rake easily defeated the fake bird.

            By then Smalls and Wilfred were nearly there. Reaching down, Smalls unsheathed his sword, tossing it to Wilfred who caught it easily. As quickly as he had done the first action, he accessed his bow and nocked and loosed, all still at his mad pace of speed. Behind him, the crowd let out a roar of disapproval and fear, but the arrow sunk heavily into one of the wooden wolves. By then, Smalls had already nocked and loosed two more times. The wolf rocked but didn’t topple.

            This time he nocked three.

            His adrenaline and frustration came out in a shout, and all three arrows found their marks. Wilfred threw back his sword, and he caught it. Six of the birds lay crumpled in the grass. Helmer leaped out of the way of two more-but a third, a third came racing down faster than Helmer could act. Smalls hurtled forward.

He was in the air-spinning, kicking out at the pumpkin headed bird, and then there was a sharp pain in his feet, and he collided hard with the ground.

            Wind momentarily knocked out of him; he opened his eyes to see the bird he had kicked rebounding. It closed in. Smalls saw his life flash before his eyes.