“He is Okan,” Brayandli replied with mild surprise, “and he is Gifted.  We can all communicate with one another in our minds through the Gift.”

“Wait, you can communicate with anyone with the Gift? You can find each other, just like that?” Taowren’s understanding of the Gift was relatively limited. All he really knew was that most children in the noble class were tested for it when they turned five.

         Taowren himself had never been officially tested—his great aunt had the Gift and was bonded to a rooster. She had given him a cursory inspection, but as Taowren showed no signs of having this magic and had only a weak mana base, she quickly concluded he was without it. It was a well-known fact that the Gift only manifested in people with a large pool of natural internal mana. All Taowren really knew about the screening was that it was arduous, time-consuming, and involved completing multiple tasks and challenges to determine whether a child might have the aptitude for the Gift. However, if the Okan Clan could simply send out a call and listen for answers, why didn’t they?

         Brayandli shook his head.

“No, I can only do this with other members of the Okan—and only once their powers have manifested.” He said. “It is part of our pack bond.”

“Oh.” Taowren was a little disappointed. “So, you can’t do it with outsiders at all?” Shame.

“We can do, if the correct rites are performed by both parties,” Brayandli replied, before hesitating. “However, that is forbidden for us to do so with outsiders for the most part, especially if we are not bonded to a spirit yet.”

         “Huh.” The Okan Clan has more rules than mountains has rocks, Taowren thought. He was rather glad the Nightingale Clan was so simple in comparison; there was no way Taowren would remember even half of these rules when the summer was over. Had he been born Okan, he could only assume that he would have been cast off the side of a mountain before he’d reached his eighth year.

“I need to be going, Scout will want to look into this immediately,” Brayandli said as he carefully re-wrapped the snare. “I am sorry we could not complete our meal.”

“Oh, of course. Here!” Taowren dipped his hand into the bundle of buns and selected a one of the largest spicy ones, tossing it underhand to Brayandli who caught it out of the air effortlessly with a surprised expression. “I can’t finish them all myself!” Taowren grinned. He did not add that spicy food would not suit his wild dragon’s rather more simplistic and bestial tastes.

“I… Thank you, Taowren.” Brayandli stared at the bun in his hand, then gave him a polite bow. “This was… Much better than eating in the dining hall.”

“We can do it again sometime, if you like,” Taowren said. Brayandli looked at him in what seemed like genuine surprise, and then inclined his head again.

“If you like.” The Okan heir quietly echoed Taowren’s words, and turned with an elegant swirl of his robes and strode away. Taowren waved at his retreating back, then dropped down from the decaying wooden pavilion and stretched out his battered muscles.

         You hungry, Ettore?

Food! For me?!

Taowren felt Ettore’s enthusiasm infect his own mind and smiled to himself as he marched towards a certain crumbling perimeter wall.

 *

         “Towards the Dragons’ Cliffs?” Scout stared, dismayed, at the curled length of snare nestled in the stained handkerchief, his face lined with concern.

“That is correct,” Brayandli nodded solemnly. “About an hour away from the grounds—I have never seen anyone attempt to poach so close to here before.”

“I haven’t in a long time—not since the last Poachers’ War, at least. But what were you doing wandering around there anyway?” Scout ran an experienced eye over the kerchief in his cousin’s hand. It was brown and gold; these were colours Brayandli did not wear.

“I wasn’t wandering…” Brayandli’s voice trailed off in a mumble, diligently avoiding Scout’s gaze.

“Ah, it does not matter.” Scout came to a conclusion quickly, but knew his cousin well enough to know it was pointless to press for details. “Thank you for letting me know, cousin. I’ll get it looked into immediately.” He took the bundle from Brayandli’s unresisting hand.

         “Should we expand our watches?” Brayandli watched his cousin’s eyes go distant as he communicated with the other members of the clan in his mind.

“That might be a good idea,” Scout said, “but we’re stretched so thin with the Summit, I don’t know if we can. Best you keep your eyes peeled on your… Walks.”

“I will.” Brayandli nodded solemnly and turned to go.

         Scout watched the slender youth drift away from him and out of the training grounds, a large steamed bun still clutched in his hand, and sighed. He turned his warm yellow eyes to the handkerchief and its deadly contents, admiring the repeated pattern of flying nightingales that embroidered its edge. A smile crinkled his weathered face for just a moment.

“About time he made a friend…”

He tucked the bundle into his jerkin and strode off towards the Gifted area of the Keep.