So there he was.
Outside.
Standing with the two guards, wrapped in every layer he owned, buried under a sodden, stinking coat that would probably never dry again, not after four weeks of soaking up all of the storms between the settlements and here.
There he was, staring into the dark. Straining. Listening.
Waiting for a witch.
“So,” Estingar asked, voice inappropriately light for the situation, “how’d you know she’s coming?”
Damn.
Yu kept his eyes forward, locked onto the swirling snow illuminated by the orb light. The rational part of him was aware that the other guards should know everything, but his gut told him not to reveal anything to Tirran. So he gave a half-truth: “I recognise someone with three heartbeats coming.”
More often than not, his hearing acted on its own. Yu could not always control it, less direct it. On a good day, it was possible for him to hear heartbeats, if he really concentrated. Though from a distance, it was close to impossible to tell if three belonged to one person or just three people walking close together. And right now? Right now was not a good day. With the wind howling, his breath unsteady, and people talking right next to him, there was no way Yu could focus. He gave up and took in the conversation instead.
“How do you know?” he asked, turning the question back on them, “I mean, that there’s a witch?”
“By smell,” Tirran said.
“I sense her energies,” said Estingar — possibly Estingar.
“What does that mean?” Yu asked.
“Her essence is unmistakable,” Estingar explained. “Dense. Potent. Unlike anything else.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah,” Estingar continued. “Like wizards, witches carry a unique signature. But theirs is older. More … primal. More intertwined with nature. More like beastkin, closer to beasts, really.” Estingar paused. He shifted his shoulders and wings, as if rolling the sensation off. “With a witch close enough, I can sense the concentrated strands of Rothar around her hands, feet, and eyes. They coil. They twist. The nexus points of her power.”
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