Small houses and shacks formed in clusters near the edge of the city, but the closer to its heart she walked, the more crowded her surroundings became. The scattered hovels quickly changed from isolated clumps to tight fit shops mashed together with houses. The street bustled with activity, and a fresh layer of snow coated the ground, decorating the rooftops and icing the roads. Amongst the chaos was the occasional sound of laughter that followed the mishap of a person slipping on the sheets of ice that invisibly gathered on the pathway.

A small group of children had taken claim of a large ice section and skated around it. Frequently, they crashed into each other and knocked their friends over as they passed a large stone back and forth, kicking it with their feet.

Dasha watched the stone shoot from the crowd, heading towards a single boy on the edge of the ice sheet. The boy dove for the sliding stone, but it flew past him and into the street. He hit the ice hard and slid a few paces before coming to a stop. Half the children cheered in triumph, but the others grumbled and muttered under their breaths.

The boy lifted himself to his feet, brushed himself off, then went to fetch the stone. It was smoothed down flat and carved into a perfect oval shape. He threw it once more to the center of the ice, and the game continued. Dasha pulled out an empty, leather bound notebook and a charcoal pencil, recording what she saw of the game; the objective, the players, the rules, and anything else she could pull from it. She'd seen the guardsmen play a similar sport in the castle courtyard when time allowed for such activities, and she wished she could join in on the fun, but she could not disobey her father's bidding.

In time, the game came to an end, and Dasha was forced to move on. Down the road a bit, she found a small ladder that led to the rooftops where she knew there'd be a much better view than the one she'd had in the street. She scaled the rungs and pulled herself onto the roof, scanning her sur-roundings while she walked along the edges of the buildings. The roofs grew slanted when she reached the more centered, larger buildings of the city, so she chose a small butchers shop with a flat top, cleared a section of snow, and sat to watch the happenings below.

The man and woman behind the counter just beneath her bore the burgundy crystal rings of the Merchant guild. A man stood on the consumer end, digging through his purse of coins to pay for the meat. His hands were worn and calloused; burn marks spotted his skin, and a black diamond crystal rested in his ring, marking him a Blacksmith.

Dasha jotted down the exchange, noting the coins paid, the meat given, and the Blacksmith status of the consumer. When the man left, another shortly took his place. This one was younger, yet carried a presence with him impossible to ignore. Bystanders' attentions were drawn to him, and people stared from all around. Something about the way he walked, the way he stood, it drew one in.

He was tall and solid, a determined fire in his eyes. When he moved, he strode with power and confidence, and when he spoke to the Merchant, his voice was deep and strong. A thin scar traced down the center of his right eye that evoked curiosity in Dasha's heart. Everything about him fascinated her. He was one of those people that carried such a presence that you knew he was there without ever having to see him. Her father carried a similar presence. She made a note to learn how to walk with the intensity that he walked with. She wanted to be able to draw the eyes of everyone around just by simply having the confidence to be herself.

Something that was draped over his shoulders began to move, glistening an emerald green that matched the man's ring. The creature stretched, revealing a dark, forest-green set of leathery wings and a beautiful green scaled body. Its length equaled the width of the man's shoulders, and the tail coiled around his arm, slithering like a snake with each movement of the beast. It hissed at a child whose curiosity betrayed her, a spark forming in its mouth at her next step.

A dragon. Dasha realized. The man stroked the shoulder blades of the creature, and it curled back up, retreating into a slumber. "Back away, child. Just because he's young doesn't mean he isn't dangerous." The child listened and took a step back, but she kept an awestruck gaze upon the dragon.

Dasha quickly sketched the man and dragon in her notebook, not wanting to forget a single detail of this encounter. The strength of the man, the mystery of the beast, and the spark of curiosity in the eyes of the child. She captured it all with the strokes of her pencil, then the man walked away, a path parting in the crowd as he moved through the gathering, seemingly oblivious to the hundreds of eyes that glued to him and this magnificent creature. Eventually, he disappeared from view, feeding a small chunk of meat to the dragon.

Out of what seemed thin air, a boy plopped down beside Dasha, and she jumped, startled by his sudden appearance. "Apologies, miss, I didn't mean to frighten you," he said. "The name's Patch... or at least that's what people call me. No one knows my real name, y'see. My parents took that secret to their grave." His face twisted with a mix of sorrow and something Dasha couldn't place. "Anyway, enough about me, what have you got there?" he asked, reaching for the notebook, deep green eyes staring into hers.

"Nothing," said Dasha, slamming it shut.

"Oh, come on now, let's see it please. Does it hurt to be curious?"

"Yes, actually, didn't you hear? Curiosity killed the cat," she replied.

"Well it's a good thing I'm not a cat, then, isn't it?"

He looked a bit like a cat, though she dared not say it. His scruffy black hair lay in shambles atop his head like the ragged fur of the stray cats she'd seen wander the city. He grabbed the notebook while she was distracted and flipped it to her drawing. "A mysterious girl in a black cloak, drawing pictures of random civilians. Fascinating. What, may I ask, is your name?"

"Uh..." Dasha hesitated, not sure what she should say. She couldn't tell him the truth. She'd promised her father secrecy.

"Or don't you have one?" He spoke fast, not giving much opportunity to process what was being said. "What're you doing up here anyway?"

"I'm studying," she said, glad for the topic change.

"What are you studying?"

Dasha thought for a moment, trying to conjure an explanation. A quote from her father seemed to do the trick. "My surroundings... The world is our greatest teacher."

"But why study it when you can live it?" he asked. "Here, come with me." He grabbed her hand and dragged her down to the street.

Dasha's feet tangled beneath her, but she managed to keep her footing. "Where are we going?" she asked, glancing back to the rooftop they'd been sitting on only a moment before.

"Don't know yet. We're being spontaneous," he said.

Dasha huffed, struggling to keep up. "I've got to write some of this down, you know," she said, hoping it would suggest a break from the running.

Thankfully, he stopped. "What for?" he asked.

"My father," said Dasha, using the moment to catch her breath. "He let me do this instead of sitting with the magister all day."

"So you have a father... can afford a magister," he thought out loud, mumbling his conclusions to himself. "So must be upper or middle class. Black cloak indicates secrecy, and you hesitated to give your name. You're hiding. And! You're studying the city as if you don't walk these streets every day, so you must live in the outskirts... or perhaps not in the city at all... perhaps that castle over there. See, we're getting to know each other, princess." He bowed, and she stood like a fool with her mouth agape.

"Could you really tell from that alone?" Dasha asked.

Patch gave a wry smile. "No," he said. "I saw you a couple years ago when you went with your father to the docks. It's a pleasure to meet you, your highness." He held out his hand in greeting, head bowed ever so slightly.

"Don't call me that," said Dasha, a bit flustered from the encounter.

"Why not?" he asked.

Dasha lifted her hand to show the silver band of a child on her finger. "No stone on the ring means I'm technically not part of the Royal House yet," she said, though that meant nothing with her being the only heir. She was more fearful of others noticing her presence than anything as trivial as rings. That was the true reason she wished to avoid the title. His courtesies would surly draw attention.

"How long until you get yours?" he asked.

"Half a year."

"Same," said Patch.

"Which guild will you join?" Patch had been given choice, and she wanted to know what someone would do with it.

He thought on the inquiry for a good minute, then said, "I'm not sure. I don't really fit into a guild. Not yet at least. To be honest, I never thought I'd make it to my enlistment day. A life on the streets isn't one of luxury." That thought silenced him for a bit, and they continued forward. "If I had to choose, though," he said once they were further down the street. "It'd be a guild with power, one where I could make a difference and help the kids like me."

"Maybe one day, I'll have the power to do the same," said Dasha.

After some time of wandering, they found a small alcove wedged between two buildings. It was concealed in a way that it was difficult to see in but simple to see out. They cleared a patch of snow and sat, getting comfortable on the ragged, rocky ground.

Together, they watched the people that passed for a short time. Some walked hurriedly by, others lingered for a moment, speaking with another, or just gazing upon something that had caught their eye in a shop. Dasha recorded anything that sparked interest. Most of her entries were small pieces of stories heard at a distance. She liked the tales, real or fake, they gave her a glimpse into a world that wasn't her own. Patch had a few stories to tell as well, things he'd heard on the street and the spread of rumor going around the city.

Amid one of these stories, a woman stopped in front of the entrance to their alcove. She had long, dark hair, pulled back with a leather strap, and she was garbed in black, slim fitted clothing. Even the ring on her hand held a jet crystal. Patch fell silent, backing further into the shadows.

"What is it?" Dasha asked.

He pointed to the woman. "Necromancer," he said. "First one I've seen this year."

"So?" Dasha had rarely heard of them. She knew it was one of the guilds but had never learned much about what it was they did.

"Servants of Odemus and Xudor... ringing a bell? They speak to spirits. Terrible omens. I've heard people say that if you see one, someone is likely to die."

The woman's head turned towards them as if summoned by the mention of death, and her eyes met with Dasha's for what seemed an eternity. Then, as quickly as she'd come, she turned and walked away. The Necromancer had a strange presence to her, sort of like the Dragon Keeper, but it was different. Rather than drawing the attention of everyone around, she went unnoticed. No one looked at her, but they all parted when she neared. She was like a phantom that no one could see, yet they all adhered to her movement. She walked straight through the crowd without having to dodge a soul. Patch relaxed as the woman grew distant, engulfed suddenly by the sea of people.

"It's just a guild. What makes them so different than the others?" Dasha asked.

Patch looked at her with disbelief. "Dasha... they have the ability to raise the dead. They could make an army out of them if they wanted to. You can't tell me that isn't at all terrifying to you."

While it was a grand idea, Dasha didn't think it was a likely thing to happen. "The Mages could just as easily turn the ground beneath our feet against us, but no one cowers from them," she said. "It's an outlandish fear. There's no reason for them to do it."

He blinked slowly, deep in a thought. "I'd rather have the ground turn against me than face a battalion of ghosts."

"It isn't that terrible of an idea if you think about it... an army of the dead with the backing of Mages and Dragon Keepers. It'd be unstoppable, wouldn't it?" She smiled at the thought, imagining the power behind such an army.

"I dread the day. Remind me not to be here when it happens."

Dasha, having dismissed the notion of the army, returned to the topic of the Necromancer they'd encountered. "I wonder who's dying," she said, and she peaked her head out, searching the surrounding households for signs of distress. Somewhere behind a closed door, someone was slipping out of this world and into another.

"It could be anyone with the reign of Odemus approaching," said Patch, looking Dasha in the eyes for a fleeting moment.

Shortly thereafter, the sun sank behind the buildings, cuing Dasha to return home. "Will I see you again?" Patch asked as she gathered her things to leave.

"I'll meet you here every morning when the sun hits its peak until the first of Odemus," she promised.

"Sounds like a plan, see you later, then."

"Bye." She scampered off, making it back tothe castle just as the sun kissed the horizon.