A crumpled form lay curled up at the base of a tree, completely covered by a large, dark blue cloak. The person was unmoving, but they were breathing. Yore could hear it.

Yore shifted, his body contorting itself into a new form. Once upon a time shifting had been smooth and painless, but now it felt like his bones were made of shattered glass. He stood up on two feet and dressed himself in the clothes from his bag.

By the time he was done, the figure still hadn’t moved.

Yore crouched next to it. “Hey, you okay?”

The figure stirred.

“You’re covered in blood, so probably not. Do you need help?”

The figure startled, tried to sit up, and then let out a cry of pain. A young man.

Yore held his hands up in front of himself, palms forward in a signal of reassurance. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Don’t hurt yourself.”

The young man sat up, more slowly this time, and peered out at Yore from beneath the hood of his cloak. A lock of long hair the colour of actual gold had escaped his hood and caught the light.

“A Companion?” Yore asked. A few years ago he wouldn’t have known what hair like that meant, but by this point he knew enough Companions that he was well informed.

The mage pushed his hair back under his hood, but he surely knew it was too late to hide it.

What was an expensive Companion doing out here? Had he escaped? Had he been left here for dead after his master had had some fun torturing him?

Neither seemed particularly likely. He’d seen some truly awful things done to slaves, but those who were into that sort of thing didn’t usually go for Companions. There were cheaper, more discreet options. And running away? Danya might have had that sort of spirit, but it was rare among Companions. Especially the more expensive ones. A great deal of time and effort went into training them to be docile and obedient.

“What happened to you?” Yore asked.

The mage looked back at him. He didn’t answer.

There was another possibility. Another reason he might be here. As much as Yore didn’t want to consider it, he might have been planted.

The rebellion had grown over the last few years. They’d kept many things a secret, but the existence of their movement itself could only be hidden for so long. They’d freed too many slaves to go unnoticed. If someone was looking to get inside information, planting an injured slave full of tracking chips and listening devices somewhere he would be found would be an excellent approach.

If that were the case — or even a possibility — Yore would need to reassess his approach to this situation. He couldn’t simply tell this young man what he was involved in and offer him safety and freedom. That would endanger not only himself but his pack and the rebellion as well.

Leaving him here or returning him to wherever he’d come from simply weren’t options, though. Yore had come to accept that he couldn’t save everyone, but when someone was right in front of him in need of help, he would do everything he could.

He would keep what he told the mage to a minimum and let him reach his own conclusions about what Yore intended to do with him. Those conclusions likely wouldn’t be very pleasant or legal, but in terms of consequences it was much better than telling someone who could be a spy all about the rebellion.

The mage had hugged his arms around his legs and was holding very still. He was staring at the ground.

“What’s your name?” Yore tried, but the mage remained silent. “Are you not able to speak? I know a man who’s mute.”

Still no response. Not even a nod or a shake of his head. Maybe he was deaf. Or, more likely, unwilling to talk. Well, Yore could hardly blame him for that. If this wasn’t a set up, the mage was a runaway. By all appearances, Yore was human.

“Okay. I don’t need to know your name and I don’t need to know what happened, but I do need to know about your injuries. Can I just…”

Yore reached a hand out and the mage startled backwards, holding his hands out in front of himself and rapidly shaking his head. His eyes were a very similar light blue to Danya’s.

“Okay.” Yore held his hands up as well, signalling that he was backing down. “You don’t want to be touched. That’s fine. Will you show me where you’re hurt?”

The mage hesitated and then reluctantly nodded. He took his cloak off and hung it over a nearby branch and then pulled off his shirt. There was a bandage wrapped around his midsection, stained a deep red on one side, and then he turned and showed Yore a few nasty looking cuts in the middle of his back.

“Is what’s under that bandage as bad as what’s on your back? Worse?” Yore asked, but of course the mage didn’t answer. “If you need medical help, I need to know. I—”

Yore had taken a step towards the mage, and the mage took a startled step back. His foot caught on the root of a tree and he started to stumble, but Yore was there to catch him before he could fall.

The mage let out a cry of pain or maybe fear, but instead of struggling or cowering he shoved his hands in his armpits, tucked his head down, and held very still. 

Yore set him back on his feet and gave him space. “Careful.”

The mage kept his hands under his armpits. He was breathing rapidly and he wouldn’t look at Yore anymore.

Yore slowly nodded. “Okay. How about you put your clothes back on and we sit down so you don’t trip over again, and then we can figure out where to go from there?”

The mage followed the instructions methodically. He put his shirt on. He put his cloak on. He carefully sat on the ground. He shoved his hands back under his armpits.

Yore sat down as well. The hands under the armpits thing was odd. Had he been taught not to touch people? For a mage — and particularly a Companion — that was especially cruel.

Which reminded Yore of another concern: the mage would need someone else to balance his magic. Yore didn’t fully understand the concept, but he knew mages got sick when they went too long without having enough direct contact with either a human or another mage. Especially if they used a lot of magic or were injured, as this young man was.

Yore couldn’t help him with that. At least not directly. He was neither a human nor a mage. This situation was likely to get messy. Well, messier than it already inherently was.

One step at a time. He would need to take the mage to someone who had one of the devices that could wipe the tracking chips. Lucas would be preferable, assuming he could be found. Yore didn’t exactly want to take the mage home with him when he might be being tracked.

Yore could have tracked Lucas down in under a day in wolf form, but he’d need to travel on two legs and at the pace of a small and quite injured mage who seemed like he would be unwilling to be carried. This journey would take days, and even if the mage’s injuries caused him no serious problems, he would likely ultimately become too out of balance to walk on his own.

Yore shook his head. He was thinking too far ahead again. If they were going to travel, they would need supplies. He could have made do with what he had in his bag on his own, but the mage was in no condition to rough things out.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” Yore told the mage. “I have some friends who live nearby, so I’m going to go and ask if they can lend us anything to help us out with this situation. You’re going to wait here while I do that, because if you wander off you’re probably going to hurt yourself even more. Okay?”

The mage stared at the ground. He didn’t respond.

“Okay?” Yore repeated.

The mage didn’t look up, but he did nod.

“Great.” Yore stood up, his joints aching as he moved. “My name’s Yore, by the way. I’ll be back soon.”