(Note to any of my readers: I'm very very VERY sorry for the long wait! I would ramble about how busy I am, but that would take up the time in which you could be reading what I have taken far too long in writing. It is not long, but I hope it'll be a sufficient peace-offering to make up for the long wait. =P)

         Silently, they turned and shuffled out of Rindor’s sitting room, neither venturing or wanting to look at the other.

~~~~~

Spencer gazed longingly into the shop window at the beautiful leather saddle which was perched on a stand. He touched the coin purse at his belt which Wren had given him with the stern command that he was to use it only for the materials which the blacksmith needed. I could say someone stole the money, Spencer thought, then rolled his eyes. Wren would see the saddle, though. And the last thing Spencer desired was to incur the wrath of the blacksmith.

            With a sigh, he continued on his way down the cobblestone street where he passed carts laden with farmers’ produce, travelers on horseback, peddlers with large packs full of their wares and a green-robed man. Spencer’s eyes nearly bugged out of his skull as he came to a halt. He remembered all too clearly Zeth’s description of the slavers he had seen. Green robes. Yellow sashes. Spinning on his heal, he caught a glimpse of the Aja’bin just as he rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. Many other townsfolk strolling down the street also cast sharp, wary glances towards the path the slaver had taken, more than a few making the sign which was said to ward off magic. Spencer absently made the sign, his brow furrowing in thought. For a fleeting moment, he thought of pursuing the slaver, but every warning bell in his consciousness went off at that thought and he quickly dispelled any similarly absurd notions from his mind.

            Wren told you to buy supplies. That’s all you came here to do, he spoke to himself mentally as he turned and headed towards the market.

            He soon reached his destination: an old, red-shingled building which housed the only tools to be found in Rivion. Unless, of course, you were determined enough to make your own. Wren usually did. Spencer guessed that the blacksmith’s reason for sending him out on the errand was simply to get him out of the way for a few hours.

            Spencer opened the heavy oak door of the tool shop and stepped in, fishing Wren’s hastily drawn up list from his trouser pocket as he did. The parchment crackled as he unfolded it and he squinted, attempting to read it in the dimly lit warehouse. He made out the first few listen items after a moment of holding the paper very close to his eyes, and he set off in the general direction of the shelves where he knew he would find the tools.