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It's a radiant Silversun morning when I get out of bed. The Cockatrices sing their praises to the sun, and the Mist outbreak from last night died down to a gentle breeze. After my routine morning stretches, I could tell that I wouldn't have many more days like this for a while. A quick look at my Ackademy Schedule tells me the same thing, so I strip out of my nighttime robes and prepare myself for whatever whims would cross my mind.

Before anything else, I need to get myself clean. While everyone else may crinkle their nose at the smell of an unwashed Nu Mou, I've grown accustomed to my own stench. The only thing that really bothers me when I don' t bathe is how sticky my body gets, especially in this humid climate. With a flick of my arm, I summoned a tub's worth of warm water. A good amount spilled out from the fall, but I just shrug it off as I climb inside.

The problem with Inn bathtubs is the fact that they were designed with Humes in mind. While perfect for most races, it leaves several others to deal with the awkward sizes. For Moogles and Nu Mous, this means we need to stand up if we don't want to drown. It should come as no surprise that both of those races hate water. It was only when the water got cold that I remembered what I forgot: Soap.

Without anything like psychokinesis at my disposal, I have to get creative with my magick to get the stuff off from its perch. Without the stress of battle on my mind, I can harness more than two schools at once, but I still feel ashamed when I have to use my powers for such a mundane task. Still, it's either that or be stuck feeling sticky all day. Like The Rift I'm doing that.

With a dramatic point towards the bar, I shout, "Water!" and a blob of liquid forms right beside the soap. I pull back my right hand and replace it with my left as I bellow out, "Blizzara!" The water expands as it freezes up, sending the slippery mound flying off its perch and over the tub. In a panic, I raise both hands up and slam them down under the water, screaming "Graviga!" at the top of my lungs and sending the soap crashing into the tub. It's not too big of a splash, I think. I mean, what's 5cm of water out of the tub? Regardless, it's time to get clean...

After finally getting out of the bathroom, cleaner than a Hume's teeth, I open up the cramped closet and shuffle through my various robes, wondering what I should be for the day. A Sage? Too predictable. An Illusionist? Widespread chaos may sound fun at first, but I couldn't deal with the reprocussions. A Scholar? I already talked about widespread chaos. Besides, I was already going back to the Ackademy; why would I want to start school early? I shove aside the Ackademic robes and the sight of the next outfit brought a smile to my face. "This could be fun," I tell myself as I pull out the pile of dusty robes.

With a quick whack with my mace, the months of unuse fly off, revealing a tattered set of humble traveling attire, as well as a woolen green hat. Eagerly, I slip into the set and pull the hat over my eyes. Finally, I withdraw several instruments from my personal armory and toss them into a hempen sack. It's time to catch up with some old friends.

Out of the confines of the Inn, I slip and rush past the throngs of people until at last I reach the city limits. I can't say I very much care for most people. Why I even bothered with the Ackademy in the first place, I will never know. Still, I might as well see it through to the end, considering I'm almost graduating. I dont want to look like a coward, after all.

The woods are just a hop and a skip away from the gate, and past the branches and leaves, I could see a great deal of fauna and flora running amuck. I recall hearing about how this town's been subject to a good number of monster attacks. The shocked expressions of the people as they talk about said attacks make me want to shake my head.

Idiotic ignorance aside, something else has been bothering me. I've been feeling a suspicious hint of Mist surrounding me ever since I stepped out of my temporary shelter. A warning from the townsfolk perhaps? Or maybe a threat directed at my attire? Whatever. If they chastise me for consorting with beasts, then let them. Today, I'm a Beastmaster, and no Hume, Nu Mou, Gria, or Bangaa will change that.

Still, this disturbance in the Mist feels familliar. Nostalgic, like a tune you hum all day, but never can sing to. It follows me even as I force myself through the thickets. This hazy memory bothers me, to the point where I can't even enjoy the wet grass cleaning the dust off my bare feet. My eyes go functionally blind, and all of my thoughts concentrate on mentally unmasking this mystery Mist. It's only after I hear a voice call out to me that I snap back to reality.

"Hi there!" the voice barks at me. I search around for its owner for a few seconds before thinking to look down. It's been so long since I mastered Beasttongue that all the languages began melding together.

When I finally do look down, I see a baby Worgen staring back at me with a wagging tail. I really envy them for being able to do that stuff; all my tail is good for is backup energy. Before I could get too far with that line of thought, the puppy spoke up again. "I have just met you and I love you! Would you like to meet my family?" Before I could answer his question, he howls out, "Come on out, everybody!"

In a matter of seconds, I'm surrounded by canines. I nearly fell over when they all leaped out from the bushes. 5, 10, 25, almost 30 wolves of varying sizes, but all of them stood silent as they stared at me. In my panic, I screamed, but that only made them all snarl at me. An ear-splitting howl sounded nearby, and I began seeing stars.

Sweat turned into more sweat as I sat back, dazed and confused. I have no idea what I was thinking back then. Even now, thinking about what I should've done at the time gives me a blank. Luckily, I didn't have to think; another wolf did the thinking for me.

"Everybody, please calm down. I believe this one is an old friend of mine," the canine howled to the rest of the pack. Everyone stood in attention as the apparent boss walked towards me, and those in her way quickly stepped aside. When he reached me, the wolf lowered her head and took numerous whiffs that gradually built up to my head. It was then that I got a good view of her.

There really wasn't much to differentiate her from Male wolves, but her stature put her high above the rest of the pack. No doubt she was the alpha. In spite of her beastly appearance, I can see that she takes good care of her purple coat. I bet her fur would feel soft and cushy if I went up to pet her.

Her narrow muzzle curls up into a grin, and she speaks up again. "Ahh, Milt. You've got quite a few scars on you since our last encounter. I'm surprised you haven't ended up on some monster's plate yet," she barks, licking my face to drive her point in. After I wipe her drool off and bring myself back to my feet, she introduces my to the pack. "Everyone, this is Milt. He used to stop by the woods and play with me back when we were pups. Milt, this is..."

The names whiz through my head as each wolf comes and goes. I recognize a few of them, but most just fly over my head when I try to fish out memories. I notice that a few key names were missing, but I remain silent about that matter. I bet it's hard enough for Reis to manage a pack without the death tolls looming over her head.

As I got lost in the usual chit-chat, I catch a young female sniffing at my bag. When I looked at her, she looked back at me, ready to ask a question. The wolf, named Freya whined, "What is this?"

I tell her about the sack, as well as what's inside, and Reis chimes in. "You brought your little toys too, Milt." When I nod, she continues, "Well, kids, you're in for a wonderful treat." Several older wolves nod in agreement.

"You brought your trumpet, man? You gotta play it!" Marco, an old male howls, and several others echoed his words. In seconds, the entire pack begins chanting, "Play! Play! Play! Play! Play!"

I swallow my sheepishness and tug at my clothes to let some cooler air in. I don't want to think of what they'd do to me if I didn't do as they asked. Even we were friends, they were still monsters. I'd rather not test their whims, so I shuffle through the bells and whistles until I pull out a woodwind instrument. The old dogs began snarling, and I quickly drop the thing. "Right, they like brass," I tell myself as I mentally slap my own face. After feeling around for the cold metal, I fish out my trumpet, and the crowd goes wild. Well, wilder than usual.

With the opening in my sack closed shut, I sling it over my shoulder and bring the brass up to my mouth. I take a few deep breaths to loosen up the knots in my stomach, and I begin my performance. When the notes reach the wolves' ears, each one of them stand in attention and start sorting themselves into a single-file line in front of me. I can feel a rest coming soon in the piece, and I take the opportunity to swallow my heart down before turning around and making my way through the forest.

Just as I remember from all those years ago, the woods look beautiful, what little I can see of it. At the moment, I'm too concentrated on not playing a wrong note and not accidentally slipping on my clothes to really admire nature's beauty.

After several minute's worth of marching with the wolves, I find myself standing in front of a giant Godwood tree. Once my piece comes to a close, the wolves howl their cheers and jeers at my performance. Most of the critical comments come from the older dogs, who note that my notes have gotten a bit rusty. Still, the pack barks and begs me to play another piece.

I don't feel like standing up much longer, and I whine to the canine crowd, "All right, fine, but could I take a seat first?" Everyone around me sits down and I followed suit, resting my stiff back against the shining bark. Now in a more comfortable position, I pressed my lips against the warm brass mouthpiece and began to buzz and blow. Once more, a number of joyful howls follow the start of my performance.

A few measures into the piece, I can feel my muscles relax, and the notes scroll through my mind like one of my Magickal incantations. As I lose myself in the music, even my blinking begins to slow down. However, before I could get too comfortable, a card comes flying at me at breakneck speeds. The trump hit my trumpet with a sharp noise before floating down to the forest floor. Thank Ultima brass is harder than paper. If it wasn't, well, I wouldn't be here to say any of this.

I picked up the card and stood back up. When I flipped it face up, the Joker greets me, and I deduce what, or more precisely, who's been causing that disturbance in the Mist.

I stand back up, and a Bangaa appears before my eyes. A loose white body suit covers up most of his orange scales while a purple visor hides his eyes from the world. A Trickster, and one that can turn invisible at that. Truly a formidable enemy, if he were one.

I don't even bother pointing out the fact that he nearly slit my throat. He already knows. Instead, I send the card flying back to its master with a whispered "Aero." As soon as he snatches it out of the air, I revert to the common tongue. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Noah?"

After pocketing the card, the Trickster lets out a soft chuckle. "Still haven't figured out the trick behind these cards, Milt?" Noah taunts with his magickally augmented tongue. "And yes, it has been a while. How have you been?"

While my companion talked and joked, I had to silently ask the pack to not gang up and maul him. As I frantically wave my hands in front of me, I catch a glimpse of the Bangaa in my peripheral vision, and I realize that I haven't answered his question. In a vain attempt to look collected, I pull off my hat and slick back my white hair as I reply, "I suppose I would've gotten my point across more clearly if I just walked up and handed it to you. I have figured out your little card trick, and I know that it's impossible for my kind to perform," with more than a hint of annoyance in my voice.

The Trickster's magicked words nearly send me into a frenzy. However, before I go blind with rage, I stuff my left hand into my pouch and grip a thin piece of cloth inside. The soothing feeling of red velvet snaps me back to reality, and I shake off any excess tension in my body before looking back at the Bangaa. "In any case, it's been difficult to keep myself entertained without your company, but I'm hanging on," I shrugged. "I was in the middle of a performance when you decided to stir things up. Would you care to take a seat before I continue?"

"I'd be honored," he answered with a glint of light shining from under his visor. And with that, my concert for the creatures continues.

As minutes turn to hours, the pack begins to thin out. From 30 to 25, to 10 to 5. It isn't long until it's just Noah and I under the Godwood tree. Under the night, the trunk's light grows more intense, but to my surprise, it does not feel any warmer than it did during the day.

I fall back against the shining bark once again. After all that playing, I'm surprised my lungs didn't give up on me. One would think a male with the stamina to fight would be able to last an entire performance, but I just barely finished that last piece.

Still, the sweet sound of applause made it all worth it. "That was quite a show, Milt. It's good to see you can still perform. I'd hate for you to pass out on me while we''re in the middle of..." Noah trails off, but he really didn't need to finish that sentence. His naughty chuckle gives it away. I laugh along with him for a second before he starts another sentence. "Still, would you mind if I make a request?" My eyes threaten to close shut for the rest of the day and a good chunk of tomorrow, but I nod my head anyway.

"For your next piece, I'd like to hear you, not just an instrument."

I open my eyes wide at those words, but exhaustion forces them closed. I lose the ability to move my body, and I feel my tongue lolling out of my muzzle. I'm just too tired to do anything else tonight.

When I wake up, the sun hits me in the face with the force of a Scathe spell. When I pull my arm up to shield my eyes, I find something heavy wrapped around my prone form. I look to the side and Noah's unconscious body greets me with a half-aware grin. Trying my best to not wake him up, I gently slide his arm off of my torso and push myself off of the Godwood. After a good night's rest, I'm ready to undertake the Bangaa's request.

Just like yesterday, I reach into my bag and pull out a music box. Considering its size, I'm surprised at how long its song plays for, especially with multiple instruments. After a second to admire the craftsmanship, I give the crank several good turns and set it down on the ground. As the crank unwinds itself, the tune plays, and I take a few measures to clear my throat until it's time for me to sing.

Not long before I open my mouth, Noah wipes the sleep out from under his visor and lets out a loud yawn. Right as I sing the first lyric, the Trickster makes an audible gasp, and his hands press up against his chest, and I can't help but smile at his response.

The gestures I make as I belt out the words are strong and deliberate to emphasize my lyrics, but each movement feels as natural as any one of my many languages. An oddity in hindsight, especially since I don't consider myself much of a dancer. With my eyes focused on the Bangaa, I can see him let out a light chuckle every time I spread out my arms.

At last, the song comes to a close, and Noah pounces on me like he's become one with the Wolves as well. We wrap each other tight in our arms, and we hold this embrace until the music box stops playing. When the tune ends, we look each other in the eye and hold each other hand in hand as we both say...

"It's good to have you back."