Despite the buzz of activity that occupied the next five days and nights, Taowren’s insomnia persisted. He could not explain it. Sleep had always come easily to him, his mind smoothly passing into dreams and his body waking up feeling refreshed; but since coming to the Okan residence his usual rest escaped him.

         The only way he could describe it was that the mountains were too loud at night. The cicadas that called to one another throughout the night shouldn’t have bothered him; - they were even more prolific in the south where the weather was more humid - yet somehow, here in the north it was as if he had become hyper-aware of every noise. The rustle of twigs beneath the feet of some scavenging creature in the flower beds outside of his window; the distant howls of spirit wolves further up towards the steep peaks; the wings of an owl hunting overhead. Every noise seemed to climb in through the cracks in the lattice windows and crawl their way into his bed, making nests for themselves in his ears.

         At other times, there was a complete absence of the outside and it was almost as if his brain was filled with a ringing hum between his ears, like the muffled murmur of a nest of calm bees, that not even four pillows piled over his head could prevent. The maddening hum made him want to scream, if only to break the awful, droning monotony.

            The mountains were too quiet. The mountains were too loud. Taowren was tired. Taowren was awake. He wished the nocturnal creatures outside his window would be silent. He longed for the creak of footsteps and the rustle of the Nightingale Manor servants performing their nightly duties.

            Every night he would lay in bed staring at the ceiling, willing his disobedient mind to sleep, but every night he would catch a glimpse of the moonlight through the window shutters – hadn’t he closed them? - shining on the distant leaves of the forest that sat beyond the walls of the residence, and every night would find himself at the window, heart racing, scanning the boundaries of the forest’s edge with his heart in his mouth. Why? Waiting. For what? He did not know. But he could not miss it. There he stayed until the first cracks of dawns light that crested the jagged mountains would break the spell and he would finally retire to bed for what small rest he was capable of.

         When Taowren did eventually fall asleep in the small hours of the morning, it was only after the beginnings of the first light. His sleeping mind was plagued by dreams that didn’t make any more sense than the restlessness of his nightly hours by the window. Colours streaked across blurred skies and burrowed between gnarled roots. The pounding of drums battered him like a gale, and the keening dirge of an alien melody seemed to be calling to him, urging him. Urging him where? To do what? He didn’t know, and it was driving him mad.

By the morning after the third night he was so desperate for a good night’s rest he found himself knocking on Tomar’s door, grey and purple rings framing his dark brown eyes.

         “What’s up with you?” Tomar had never seen Taowren’s skin look so sallow and lifeless. Even the way he dragged himself to a chair was drained, lacking his usual antagonising liveliness. Tomar felt the hair prickle on his neck. His cousin’s demeanour was so unusual, he couldn’t even bring himself to make a snide remark. The boy always had ruffled, unruly hair, but at this moment it was so tangled from his tossing and turning all night long that he looked less like a person and more like a caged and poorly-kept beast. Tomar crouched and dug through his luggage. “Are you sick?”

“I don’t know.” Taowren half-shrugged, his eyes closed, head lolling over the back of the armchair. “I’m just sleeping really badly.”

         “Hmm. It could be the altitude. They say it can take a week or two to get used to.” Tomar stood up, a concerned frown on his face. “I’d suggest you just muddle through, except you look like you’ve not just caught the plague, but actually died from it. Not recently, either. A week or two ago at least.”

He stopped in front of Taowren, who cracked open one dark eye after a moment when the taller boy did not speak. Tomar was holding a folded paper packet in his hand that Taowren recognised as a herb pouch. He had taught his cousins the simple Mohan paper folding technique in the preceding years, and they regularly used them to collect herbs from the Manor grounds on their excursions together.

         “Hm?” He was too tired to form an actual sentence, instead lazily waving a hand at Tomar to continue speaking.

“I’m not sure this is legal here.” Tomar pursed his lips. “The Okan clan are rather orthodox, so the entire province is strict about herbs like this.”

“And yet you brought it with you?” Taowren’s dark ringed eyes widened fractionally. Another time he would have taken this moment to jeer and poke fun at his usually-a-stickler-for-the-rules cousin, but this morning he just didn’t feel like it. Instead he lolled his head back against the chair’s neck once more. “Ha ha. I’ll remember that next time you tell me off for breaking the rules.”

         “It’s medicinal,” Tomar grumbled defensively, tipping some of the sachet out into a smaller packet with nimble fingers. “No different to willow tea or a mould poultice. As long as no-one from the Okan clan sees it, I don’t think it really counts as breaking a rule.”

         I’ll remember that too for the next time you tell me off, Taowren thought to himself.

“From the way you were lecturing me all the way up here, I think the Okan province has so many laws it’s impossible not to break at least one by accident.” Taowren mumbled through a large yawn.

“So you were listening to me.” Tomar held out the paper pouch, before retracting it slightly from Taowren’s reach. “There’s a bamboo pipe inside. I don’t know what your tolerance is like, so don’t smoke more than a pinch – and I do mean just a pinch - at a time, or you might get sick. Don’t have any now or you’ll be in a stupor all afternoon, it’s only to be used before bed. Understand? Night-time only. It helps me sleep when I’m stressed.”

         When aren’t you stressed? “Thank you, Tomo. Really.” Taowren smiled sleepily, pulling himself up from the chair with a grunt of effort and taking the proffered pouch. “This better work. I hate smoking.” He wasn’t sure how confident he was in herbs; they certainly didn’t seem to stop Tomar from losing his temper every single time Taowren made even a slightly off-kilter remark.

         “If it doesn’t, I can always get a club and knock you out.”

“Can you believe I’m tired enough I wouldn’t even say no?” Taowren laughed back, before slinking out the door to doze the rest of the morning away.

         The afternoon was filled with lectures about the Okan family’s history and their ancestors, including several talks on The Great Wolf Sage who had founded the clan close to eight hundred years ago. These talks were optional, aimed usually at the younger children of the visiting families so they could get some grasp on their hosts’ culture and traditions, which meant that for Taowren and his unlucky chaperones, Tomar and Tomei, it was obligatory under the rule of his uncle.

         A sleep-deprived Taowren struggled even more than usual to take in a word of what Bayfolin Okan was saying from her position on top of an intricately carved wooden dais. Instead his dark eyes were heavy, and only with a periodic jabbing in the ribs from Tomar did he manage any semblance of looking like he was awake, much less paying attention.

“Maybe you could try and take some notes…?” Tomei whispered worriedly from behind her fan after a particularly sharp poke had caused Taowren to yelp and brought heads turning to look at him.

         “The Great Wolf Sage and his spirit bond were of the youngest of Chosen kind in history to reach a state of permanent Soul Illumination and thus their souls joined,” Bayfolin paid no mind to the whispering trio, gesturing with an arm to a painting propped up beside her on a large easel, “And it is said that they remain resting in an endless slumber at the highest peak of the Heavenly Mountains.”

         Taowren blearily squinted at the painting, genuinely trying to focus; it depicted neither a man nor a wolf but some sort of hybrid of the two, encompassed by several great circles of white light. Behind him were the characters for the five elements that made up all things: Fire, Water, Earth, Air and Wood.

         “At least, that is how the legends go— although the Okan are students of history, much of our scriptures have been lost during the first two Poachers wars, so we do not know for certain what happened to him at the end of his life, but this is popularly believed to be the genesis of our clan’s Gift,” Bayfolin continued, raising one elegant long finger to point at the figure in the painting. “Of course, we seldom see two souls reach a permanent state of Illumination in everyday life, but if one is Chosen and the bond is strong enough it can happen. This painting shows the Sage and his bond joining to form one body, neither wholly man nor spirit. It is thought this is the form our ancestor remains in, if he truly does slumber on the Wolfs’ Peak.”

         Taowren’s only thought about this was he wishes he could rest in an endless slumber right this minute. He slumped on the desk, eyes wandering around the room while he fiddled with one of his bangles until he found himself staring out of an open window.

         Outside of this hall, there was a quaint little garden; two cherry trees stood on either side of a moon gate, while flowerbeds lined the stone paths leading up through the gate towards the garden walls. In the distance Taowren could see two figures walking, headed in the direction of the lecture hall. As he watched them approach, he realised the one dressed in black looked familiar; it wasn’t long before a sharp face was clear within rolling curtains of ink-black locks that floated down over one shoulder in an artfully tousled stream.

         A girl Taowren did not recognise was hurrying along next to him, although from her attire she appeared to be one of the stable hands. She was shaking her head at him, face downcast and footsteps quickening until she appeared to almost trot. They were just about to approach the moon gate when the young man reached out and gripped the girl’s shoulder, twisting her to face him.

Ugh.

         Yan was smiling down at her, his bright green eyes roaming over her face with a doting expression on his face. The young maid didn’t seem all too happy from where Taowren sat, her arm crossed over her chest as she leaned back and away from him. Beside him, Tomar leaned forward, curious what had caught his cousin’s attention. As soon as he saw the pair, he frowned.

“Leave it,” Tomar hissed in warning, anxiety taking its familiar position on his face. “Just leave it, Taown.”

“It looks like he’s harassing her,” Taowren whispered back. Abruptly, he stood up.

“You’ll just make it worse.” Tomar groaned, shooting looks between Taowren and Bayfolin at the front of the class. However, she didn’t seem to notice one unruly youth sneaking out the door at the back of the chamber, her bright blue eyes focused entirely on the painting and her attention on the gaggle of young teenagers sitting closest to her.

         Taowren was out of the door and down the stairs in two hops, his exhaustion all but forgotten as he moved towards Yan and the maid with his ears pricked up. His subconscious mind was telling him it could just be a misunderstanding, but his lack of sleep and first impression of the arrogant Hanlen lordling bulled it aside in an impetuous fit of gallantry. Taowren concealed himself behind a low hedge and crept closer to the pair, halting when he couldn’t have been more than an arm span from the girl’s back. The expertly pruned shrubbery hid him completely while still allowing their voices to filter through. Thank the Gods for Okan gardening. A brief search found a small chink in the wall of leaves that allowed him to see as well as hear the interaction.

         “I’m only asking you to walk with me, girl,” Yan was purring at the young woman in his grasp, whose arms were full of horse tack, “It is hardly improper for a servant to accompany an honoured guest.”

“I’m very sorry, Young Master,” the girl was saying, alternating between shaking her head and ducking into a bow that caused her long plait to whip about down her back. “I must get back to the horses now. I have many duties.”

Yan’s lips rounded into a pout. “Come, come, it is only a brief walk.” His pale hand, three fingers adorned with silver bands polished to a mirror finish, pointed west of the lecture hall. Taowren’s eyes followed to see a gated entrance to another, smaller garden surrounded by even higher hedges. “You can give me a tour, one that befits someone of my standing.”

She backed against the hedge, causing leaves and twigs to fall into Taowren’s hair. He held his breath. “I can’t—“

The pout faded and was replaced by a thin, harsh line. Yan spat his next words out, any trace of flirtation gone and replaced by a spiteful bitterness. “You know, stable girl, any other maid would take this as a compliment. With your status, you should feel honoured.”

“I’m sorry— I don’t- I’m-” Taowren could hear the stuttering of tears in her voice as he saw her head helplessly turning from side to side, tack clutched to her chest like a shield. Her voice went up in a yelp as Taowren saw the hand on her shoulder squeeze viciously tight, before releasing her with such violence she nearly fell on his hiding place. He shuffled backwards, gritting his teeth against the mounting anger inside him. Bastard!

“Oh, never you mind,” he sneered, removing a handkerchief from his pocket and ostentatiously wiping his hands. “A girl like you should know when to be flattered. I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to waste my time on stable trash.”

         At these words, sobs began to wrack her frame. Taowren had come close enough to see that she couldn’t be older than seventeen or so, and he doubted anyone had ever spoken so venomously to her before. The Okan clan may be orthodox to the point of boring, but at least they weren’t brutish and spoiled like this cruel young man!

“Oh, don’t start sobbing. You’re hard enough to look at already. You don’t want to ruin your chances with men of your class too - I doubt even peasants want a wife who looks like a babe that dropped their doll down a well.” Yan’s face twisted in a satisfied snarl at his last twist of the knife, and he turned on his silver-booted heel, tails of his robes furling with undeserved grace as he began to stride away.