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The cloak flailed behind him as he stood, facing the cliff and the powerful breeze that lashed at it.

His reptilian eyes were fixated on the area below that cliff: a clearing, where the Forest of Follies met the Artisan's Range. Any moment now, his mark would arrive.

For just a moment, he glanced up, toward the sun, and quickly raised a pale blue, scaly arm over his head. Any moment now, he could get away from this wretched ball of fire. With his raised arm, he adjusted his cloak, and held it in place against the wind.

Just then, his ears perked up as they caught a faint rustling of dry grass. He brought his eyes back to the clearing, and held his breath.

A few seconds passed, and a rather shady looking wolf emerged from the forest, lugging a small pack on his shoulder. He looked left, then right, then left once more, before setting the pack down.

The reptilian smiled as he spotted the thing.

That must be it.

He reached down to his waist and took his trusty mace into his hand, before leaping down into the clearing.

He landed with practiced elegance on the grassy landscape with little sound, and the wolf nearly fell over, stumbling away from the pack with a surprised gasp.

"A.. a kobold? W-what do you want, lizard?" The wolf's voice was plenty gruff, but it meant little when it was filled with such apprehension.

The kobold twirled the mace around in his hand. "Are you Wenlan?"

"..what?"

"Are you Wenlan?"

The wolf blinked. "What is it t-to you?"

With a smile, the kobold held the mace steady in his hand. "Gend sent me to meet a Wenlan in his stead. If you're not him.."

The wolf - Wenlan - visibly relaxed, perhaps foolishly. "What he wants is in the pack. But first.."

The kobold tilted his head. "First?"

Wenlan impatiently waved his hand. "My payment?"

The kobold tilted his head even more. It was an odd sight, and the wolf raised an eyebrow at it. "I wasn't told anything about paying you." He glanced at the pack. "Just to get whatever's in there."

Wenlan's eyes narrowed, and a moment of silence arose between the two. "..is that how it is, then?"

The kobold's smile faded, and he straightened his posture. "I suppose."

Another period of silence, only interrupted by the sound of a dagger rubbing against a leather scabbard.

Wenlan raised it toward the kobold, who simply blinked. "I thought t-this might happen.. lizard."

"It's Winter," he stated as he likewise raised his mace.

Yet another silent moment passed.

And then, Wenlan charged. He ran straight at Winter, jumping over the pack and thrusting the dagger downwards.

Winter gasped, and rolled to the right just as the dagger came down on his left arm, leaving a nasty gash. Blue blood came seeping from it, trickling down the arm to his fingers. Through the pain, he forced himself up.

Only to see that Wenlan and the pack were gone.

A deep breath. "Damnit." He looked around the clearing once more, and there was indeed no sign of the wolf.

Teleportation magic was likely the culprit. And if that was the case, there would be no finding his mark now.

Winter gave a heavy sigh, and glanced at his wound. It would heal; it just needed a little help.

He brought his opposite hand to it, and closed his eyes. After a moment of concentration, a freezing sensation emerged around the wound, and he hissed as he felt its sting.

The wound was then closed. His arm would be a bit rigid for a while, but it was better than bleeding everywhere.

He then wordlessly set out into the forest. A sigh left his lips; he wasn't looking forward to reporting his failure.

"..teleportation? I see." The lithe sergal closed his eyes in contemplation. "You're certain?"

"No. But it's the only possibility that comes to mind." Winter scratched his head as he knelt before the throne.

The sergal opened his eyes. "Hrm.. then his background wasn't properly investigated. There are not many that can simply vanish like that, that quickly, that far.."

Winter softly hummed in agreement. "Though, I do wonder what was in that pack.."

That thought was interrupted by the sergal poking his head with a fuzzy, thick toe. "Can't tell you," he said, teasingly.

Winter blushed and averted his eyes, feeling a heat arise within him. "D-don't do that. That's.. It's improper for a Prince like yourself to.. poke your servants, Gend."

Gend chuckled. "I don't have to take that from you, kid." He poked Winter again, who turned even redder.

"I'm.. 19."

"Hmmm?"

"I'm 19!" Winter looked back at Gend. "You're only five years older, furball."

A moment passed as they glared at each other.

Gend cracked first. A smirk, then a laugh. A subdued laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

Not even a second passed before Winter joined in. It was.. not quite as quiet; he wasn't sure why, but an unusually loud laugh escaped his lips. He covered his mouth, which only muffled it a bit.

"I.. oh, that was loud, wasn't it?" He gave an uneasy chuckle, and he looked nervously behind him, to the doorway leading out of the throne room.

Gend waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. Nothing important's going on today." A pause. "I think.."

He then stood up, and lifted both arms upward in a stretch, letting out a soft groan. "Well, we'll have Kostille deal with this after all, then."

Winter's eyes widened. "Wha- no! I mean.. you ordered me to handle this. Right?"

Gend looked down at the kobold, a slight frown on his face. "And you couldn't do it; this is outside of your capabilities. Didn't you say he almost stabbed you?"

Winter shot himself up on his feet at that, eyes narrowing. "Plenty of people almost stab me; I just have that effect on people!" He rubbed his arm, its wound now all healed up. "And he did stab me, but you couldn't tell; that ought to say a lot."

A sigh. "Winter.." Gend placed a few fingers on his forehead. "If he really did use World Transfer, then think about what else he could be capable of."

"We don't know that he used it."

"Is it any better if there's another one of them out there?"

Winter opened his mouth to retort, but found that there wasn't anything he could say. After a moment, Gend reached down to pat the relatively-short kobold on the head.

"Maybe Kostille wouldn't mind having a tag-along..."

Winter huffed. "Perhaps he wouldn't mind throwing a few curses on me, as well.."

Gend's fingers idly rubbed at Winter's horns. "Oh, I'm sure he'll save a few, just for you."

This only earned another huff from Winter. Gend then raised his arms in a stretch and yawned. "Cheer up, kid. It'll be safer this way." A pause. "Just focus on separating the pack from the wolf, and let Kostille focus on fighting him. Okay?"

Winter dropped his eyes to the ground for a moment, but eventually nodded. "I.. won't let you down."

Gend gave Winter one final pat. "I know." He then sat back onto his throne. "You're dismissed. I'll see what the Arcanologists can scry up... in the meantime, go take a nap. Or something." Gend waved a hand.

Winter glanced at his arm for a moment, before setting his gaze on Gend. "At once. Thank you." He bowed, which Gend chuckled at, then turned and walked out of the room, heading toward his quarters.

---

Upon arrival, Winter slammed his door rather loudly and plopped himself on his bed, also loudly. The room was of modest size, just large enough to host a bed, chair, and a desk, upon which sat a stack of unread novels and a potted Dinkflower. Upon the wall hung a Masque Troope poster, with frontman Hans Kerschal wielding his iconic Magi-Lute, which was magically tethered to a nearby Sound Amp. All of that was, of course, necessary exposition, placed conveniently at the end of the chapter.

Winter slowly pulled the sheets over his body and closed his eyes. He wondered how long it would take the Prince's scholars to track down the wolf... a few hours? A day? A few days? Winter idly rubbed his wounded arm as he drifted asleep. It wouldn't be long until that teleporting wolf got what was coming to him.