Excerpt from the Journal of Colewyn Flint

Somtimes I forget things.

I didn’t used to.

I’m going to start writing things down. Maybe it’ll help.

It’s the dragonfire. The Sosiety used to give me all I wanted. I’d sell what I didn’t use. It kept me sharp, and gave me cred among the other street kids. That’s what I thought, anyway. I think now the Sosiety just gave it to me to keep me tied to them. Now that I’m cut off from them, from home Alnaz.

I almost wrote from home. But Alnaz was never home.

Now that I’m cut off, I’m running low. I have whole weeks now that pass by in a flash. I can barely remember what’s happened to me. They tell me I lost my skin!? How could I have forgotten that?

I’ve been reading the spellbook I got from the circus in my spare time – so how come I don’t remember anything from it? Some spells would have helped in Jocund’s maze, surely. I let my friends down.

It’s time to kick the fire. I’m not a kid doing dirty work for thugs any more. I’m on the trail of a Godslayer. I can’t afford to miss anything. I can’t afford to forget my magic. I can’t afford to get my friends killed.

I wrote friends again. I’m thinking back to Alnaz – I guess I didn’t really know what a friend was, then. I thought I had them. But… Sly, Pincher, Maxi… they weren’t friends. They would have slipped a knife in my ribs if it meant a clipped copper from the Sosiety. And I’d have done the same to them.

These people, though… they’ve saved my life without a backwards glance. Many times. They look the other way every time I do something dumb, or let the dragonfire get the better of me. And I never relized how relieved I’d be when we found each other again after being split. I guess, if Alnaz was never home, then this Brotherhood is the closest thing I’ve ever had to one.

No more drugs. Keep practising your spelling, and your spells.

Time to grow up, Flint.



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