Chapter 2
The First Day

The sun was warm on his back as Dannyl stepped up to the carriage. He drew on a little magic to lift the first of his chests onto the roof. As the second settled next to it he sighed and shook his head.

"I suspect I'm going to regret taking so much," he muttered. "Yet I keep thinking of things I wish I'd packed."

"I'm sure you'll be able to buy anything you need in Capia," Rothen told him. "Lorlen has certainly given you a generous allowance."

"Yes, that was a pleasant surprise." Dannyl grinned. "Perhaps you're right about his reasons for sending me away."

Rothen's eyebrow rose. "He must know it would take more than sending you to another country to keep you out of trouble."

"Ah, but I'm going to miss fixing all your problems, my friend." As the driver opened the carriage door, Dannyl turned to look at the older magician. "Are you coming to the Marina?"

Rothen shook his head. "Classes start in less than an hour."

"For both you and Sonea." Dannyl nodded. "Then this is it—time to say goodbye."

They regarded each other solemnly for a moment, then Rothen gripped Dannyl's shoulder and smiled. "Take care of yourself. Try not to fall overboard."

Dannyl chuckled and returned the clasp. "Take care, old friend. Don't let that new novice of yours wear you out. I'll be back in a year or so to check on your progress."

"Old friend, indeed!" Rothen pushed Dannyl toward the carriage. After climbing inside, Dannyl turned to see a thoughtful expression on his friend's face.

"I never thought I'd see you running off on such glorious escapades, Dannyl. You seemed so content here, and you've rarely set foot outside the gates since you graduated."

Dannyl shrugged. "I guess I was waiting for the right reason."

Rothen made a rude noise. "Liar. You're just lazy. I hope the First Ambassador knows this, or he's in for a nasty surprise."

"He'll find out soon enough." Dannyl grinned.

"I'm sure he will." Rothen smiled and stepped away from the carriage. "Off with you, then."

Dannyl nodded. "Goodbye." He tapped on the roof of the carriage. It jerked into motion, drawing him away. Sliding to the other side of the seat, Dannyl pulled back the screen covering the window and glimpsed Rothen still watching before the carriage turned again to pass through the Guild Gates.

He leaned back in the cushioned seat and sighed. Though he was pleased to be finally leaving, he knew he would miss his friends and familiar surroundings. Rothen had Sonea and the elderly couple Yaldin and Ezrille for company, but Dannyl would have only strangers.

Though he was looking forward to his new position, he was a bit intimidated by the duties and responsibilities he was taking on. Since the hunt for Sonea, however, during which he had located and negotiated with one of the Thieves, he had grown increasingly bored with his easy, mostly solitary life of study in the Guild.

He hadn't realized just how bored he was until Rothen had told him he was being considered for the role of Second Ambassador. By the time Dannyl was summoned to the Administrator's office, he could recite the name and position of every man and woman in the Elyne court and, to Lorlen's amusement, numerous scandalous tales as well.

Deep into the Inner Circle the carriage turned onto the road that circled the Palace wall. Little could be seen of the grand Palace towers from this angle, so Dannyl slid to the other end of the seat to admire the elaborately decorated homes of the rich and powerful. At one street corner a new mansion was being constructed. He remembered the old crumbling structure that had once stood there, a relic from before the invention of magician-made architecture. The application of magic to stone and metal had enabled magicians to build fantastic buildings that defied normal structural limitations. Before the carriage moved past, Dannyl glimpsed two magicians standing beside the partly built new home, one holding up a large plan.

The carriage turned again and passed more grand homes, then slowed and rolled through the Inner Gates into the West Quarter. The guards barely glanced up as it passed, only pausing to note the Guild symbol painted on the side of the vehicle. The road continued through the West Quarter, between large and regal houses of a plainer style than those of the Inner Circle. Most belonged to merchants or crafters, who preferred this part of the city for its proximity to the Marina and Market.

As the carriage passed through the Western Gate, it entered a maze of stalls and booths. People of all races and classes filled the roads on either side. Stall holders called out their wares and prices over the endless buzz of voices, whistles, bells and animal calls. Though the road remained wide, sellers, customers, street performers and beggars crowded both sides so that carriages had barely enough room to pass each other.

The air was heavy with a confusion of smells. A breeze sweetened by the smell of bruised fruit was followed by another reeking of rotten vegetables. The fibrous smell of rush matting was swamped by the acrid, suffocating odor of something unwholesome as two men carried a vat of oily blue liquid past the carriage. Finally, the briny tang of the sea, and the subtle, pungent scent of river mud reached Dannyl and he felt his heartbeat quicken. The carriage turned a corner and the Marina came into view.

A forest of masts and ropes lay before him, dividing the sky into ribbons of blue. On either side of the road an endless river of people hurried past. Muscular carriers and crewmen hauled boxes, baskets and sacks on their backs. Carts of all sizes, drawn by all manner of animals, trundled by. The cries of sellers were replaced by shouted orders and the bellowing and bleating of livestock.

Still the carnage continued, taking him past larger and larger boats until he reached a row of sturdy merchant ships resting by a long pier. There it slowed and stopped, rocking back on its springs.

The door opened and the driver bowed respectfully.

"We have arrived, my lord."

Dannyl slid across the seat and climbed out. A swarthy, white-haired man stood nearby, his face and bare arms well tanned. Behind him stood several younger men, all heavily built.

"You are Lord Dannyl?" the man asked, bowing stiffly.

"Yes. You are … ?"

"Piermaster," he said, then nodded at the carriage. "Yours?"

Dannyl guessed that he was referring to the chests. "Yes."

"We'll take 'em down."

"No, I can save you the trouble." Dannyl turned and focused his will. As each chest drifted down toward the ground, a pair of the young men came forward and caught it, apparently accustomed to the use of magic for such purposes. They started down the pier, the rest of the men following.

"Sixth ship along, my lord," the Piermaster said as the carriage pulled away.

Dannyl nodded. "Thank you."

As he reached the pier his footsteps began echoing hollowly on the wooden planking. Looking down, he saw glimpses of water through the cracks between the wide timbers. He followed the carriers around a great stack of boxes that were being loaded onto one ship, then a pile of what looked like well-wrapped carpets waiting beside another. Men were everywhere: hurrying up and down planks with loads on their shoulders, lounging on deck playing tiles, or striding about shouting orders.

Over the noise, Dannyl noted the subtler sounds of the Marina: the constant creak of boards and ropes, and the splash of water against hull and pier. He noticed small details: the decoration on masts and sails, the names painted carefully on hull and cabin, the water pouring from a hole in a ship's side. He frowned at that last detail. Water was supposed to remain on the outside of a boat, wasn't it?

Upon reaching the sixth ship, the carriers clomped up a narrow gangplank. Looking up, Dannyl saw a pair of men watching him from the ship. He started up the plank cautiously, then with more confidence when he found it sturdy enough despite the flexing of the wood. As he stepped onto the deck the two men greeted him with bows.

They looked remarkably alike. Their brown skin and small stature were typical Vindo characteristics. They both wore tough, colorless clothing. One, however, stood a little straighter than the other, and it was he who spoke.

"Welcome to the Finda, my lord. I am Captain Numo."

"Thank you, captain. I am Lord Dannyl."

The captain gestured to the chests, which were resting on the deck a few strides away, the carriers standing nearby. "No room for boxes in your room, my lord. We stow them below. You want anything, you ask my brother, Jano."

Dannyl nodded. "Very well. There is one item I will collect before they take them away."

The captain nodded once. "Jano show your room. We leaving soon."

As the captain walked away, Dannyl touched the lid of the smaller chest. The lock snapped open. He removed a leather bag filled with necessities for the journey. Closing the lid again, he looked up at the carriers.

"This is all I'll need—I hope."

They bent and carried the trunks away. Turning, Dannyl looked at Jano expectantly. The man nodded and gestured for Dannyl to follow.

Passing through a narrow door, they descended a short stairway into a wide room. The ceiling was so low even Jano needed to stoop to duck under the beams. Roughly woven sheets were slung between hooks on the ceiling. These, he guessed, were the hanging beds he had heard about in stories and travellers' accounts.

Jano led him into a narrow corridor and, after a few steps, opened a door. Dannyl stared at the tiny room in dismay. A low bed as wide as his shoulders filled the entire interior. A small cupboard had been built into one end, and good quality reber-wool blankets lay neatly folded at the other.

"Small, yai?"

Dannyl looked across at Jano to find the man grinning. He smiled wryly, knowing his dismay must have been obvious.

"Yes," Dannyl agreed. "Small."

"Captain has room twice as big. When we own big boat, we get big room, too, yai?"

Dannyl nodded. "Sounds fair." He dropped his bag on the bed, then turned around so that he could sit down, his legs extending into the corridor. "It's all I need."

Jano tapped the opposite door. "My room. We keep each other company, yai? You sing?"

Before Dannyl could think of an answer a bell rang out somewhere above, and Jano looked up. "Must go. We leaving now." He turned, then paused. "You stay here. Not get in way." Without waiting for a reply, he hurried off.

Dannyl looked around the tiny room that would be his space for the next two weeks, and chuckled. Now he understood why so many magicians hated travelling by sea.

Stopping in the doorway of the classroom, Sonea felt her heart sink.

She had left Rothen's rooms early, hoping to get to the classroom ahead of the other novices so that she'd have time to gain some control over her fluttering stomach before meeting them. But several seats were already occupied. As she hesitated, faces turned toward her, and her stomach shrank into a tight knot. She quickly looked away to the magician who sat at the front of the classroom.

He was younger than she had expected, probably only in his twenties. An angular nose gave his face a disdainful expression. As she bowed, he looked up, his eyes fixing on her face, travelling to her new boots, then rising back up to her face again. Satisfied, he looked down at a sheet of paper and made a small tick against the list written there.

"Choose a seat, Sonea," he said dismissively.

The room contained twelve perfectly aligned tables and chairs. Six novices, all perched on the edge of their seats, watched her consider the arrangement.

Don't sit too far from the other novices, she told herself. You don't want them thinking you're unfriendly— or scared of them. A few empty seats remained in the center of the room, but she didn't like the idea of sitting in the middle, either. A chair against the far wall was vacant, flanked by three novices in the next row. That would do.

She was conscious of eyes following her as she moved to the chair. As she sat down she forced herself to look up at them.

At once the novices found something else to interest them. Sonea sighed with relief. She had been expecting more sneers. Perhaps only the boy she had encountered yesterday—Regin—was going to be openly unfriendly.

One by one the rest of the novices arrived at the door of the classroom, bowed to the teacher and took a seat. The shy Kyralian girl hastily took the first chair she came to. Another almost forgot to bow to the magician, then stumbled over to the seat in front of Sonea. He didn't see her until he had reached the chair, and he stared at her in dismay before reluctantly sitting down.

The last novice to arrive was the unfriendly boy, Regin. He scanned the room with narrowed eyes before deliberately placing himself in the center of the group.

A distant gong sounded, and the magician rose from his chair. Several novices, including herself, jumped visibly at the movement. Before their teacher could speak, however, a familiar face appeared in the doorway.

"Are they all here, Lord Elben?"

"Yes, Director Jerrik," the teacher replied.

The University Director hooked his thumbs in the brown sash about his waist and regarded the class.

"Welcome," he said, his voice more stern than welcoming, "and congratulations. I offer this congratulation not because each of you has had the good fortune of being born with the rare and much envied ability to use magic. I offer it because each of you has been accepted into the university of the Magicians' Guild. Some of you have come from countries far from here, and will not return to your homes for many years. Some of you may decide to stay here for most of your life. You are all, however, stuck here for the next five years.

"Why? To become a magician. What is a magician, then?" He smiled grimly. "There are many attributes that make up a magician. Some you already have, some you will develop, some you will learn. Some are more important than others."

He stopped and swept his eyes over the class.

"What is the most important attribute of a magician?"

In the corner of her eye Sonea saw several of the novices straighten in their seats. Jerrik moved around the desk and strolled to her side of the room. He stared down at the boy in front of her.

"Vallon?"

Sonea saw the boy's back hunch as if he wanted to slide under his table.

"H-how well he does something, my lord." The boy's weak voice was only just audible. "How much he has practiced."

"No." Jerrik turned on his heel and stalked to the other side of the class. He fixed one of the eager boys with his cold stare.

"Gennyl?"

"Strength, my lord," the boy answered.

"Definitely not!" the University Director barked. He stepped forward, down between the rows of novices, and stopped by the timid Kyralian girl.

"Bina?"

The girl blinked prettily, then raised her head to gaze at the magician. His eyes bore into hers and she dropped her head quickly.

"Uh …" She paused, then brightened suddenly. "Goodness, my lord. How he or she uses magic."

"No." His tone was gentler. "Though a very important attribute and one we expect from all our magicians."

Jerrik continued down the aisle. Sonea turned her head to watch him, but noticed that the other novices were staring rigidly at the front of the room. Feeling uneasy, she copied them, listening for the magician's footsteps as he moved closer.

"Elayk?"

"Talent, my lord?" The boy's Lonmar accent was strong.

"No."

The footsteps grew closer. Sonea felt a tingling at the top of her spine. What would she say if he asked her? Surely all the possible answers had been offered already. She drew in a quiet breath and let it out slowly. He wouldn't ask her anyway. She was the unimportant girl from the …

"Sonea?"

Her stomach lurched. Looking up, she saw Jerrik standing over her, his eyes growing chillier as she hesitated.

Then she knew the answer. It was easy. After all, she should know this better than any of the novices since she had nearly died when her own powers had grown uncontrollable. Jerrik knew this, which was probably why he had asked her.

"Control, my lord."

"No."

The magician sighed and moved to the front of the room. She stared at the grain of the wooden table before her, her face hot.

The University Director stopped in front of the desk and crossed his arms. He looked around the room again. The class waited, expectant and ashamed.

"The most important attribute of a magician is knowledge." He paused, then looked at each of the novices who had spoken in turn. "Without it his strength is useless, he has nothing to be skilled or talented in, despite his best intentions." The magician's eyes flickered to Sonea. "Even if his powers surface of their own accord, he will soon be dead if he does not gain the knowledge of how to control them."

As one, the class let out a breath. A few faces turned toward Sonea briefly. Frozen by self-consciousness, she kept her eyes on her desk.

"The Guild is the largest and most comprehensive store of knowledge in the world," Jerrik continued, a note of pride rising in his voice. "During the years that you spend here that knowledge, or at least some part of it, will be given to you. If you pay attention, listen to what your teachers tell you, and make use of the sources here such as the extensive library, you will excel. However," his tone darkened, "if you do not pay attention, pay your elders respect or take advantage of the centuries of knowledge gathered by your predecessors, you will shame only yourselves. The years ahead of you will not be easy," he warned. "You must be dedicated, disciplined and dutiful," he paused and scanned the faces before him, "if you are to reach your full potential as magicians of the Guild."

The atmosphere in the room had changed from relief to a new kind of tension. The novices were so quiet that Sonea could hear them breathing, Jerrik straightened and put his hands behind his back.

"You are probably aware," he said in a milder tone, "of the Three Levels of Control that are the foundation of your university education. The First, unlocking your power, you will achieve today. The Second, the ability to access, draw, and contain your power, will be your aim for the rest of this morning, and every morning, until you can achieve all three without thinking. The Third, grasping the many ways that power can be used, will be taught to you in the years between now and your graduation—though, regardless of which discipline you choose to specialize in after graduation, there will be no point at which you will have completed the Third Level. Once you have graduated, it will be up to you to expand upon the knowledge we have given you, but you will, of course, never know all there is to know." He smiled thinly.

"The Guild holds more knowledge than you could absorb in a lifetime, probably more than you could learn in five lifetimes. We have the three disciplines of Healing, Alchemy and Warrior Skills. So that you may learn enough of one to become a useful and accomplished magician, your teachers, and those before them, have gleaned what information is most relevant and important to give to you." He lifted his chin slightly. "Use this knowledge well, novices of the Magicians' Guild of Kyralia."

He cast his eyes over the classroom once more, then turned and, with a nod to Lord Elben, left the room.

The class was still and quiet. The teacher remained motionless, noting the expressions on the faces of his charges with a smile of satisfaction. Then he stepped around to the front of the large table and addressed them.

"Your first lesson in Control begins now. Each of you has been designated a teacher for this lesson. You will find them waiting for you next door. Rise and make your way to this room now."

Chairs scraped on the wooden floor as the novices got eagerly to their feet. Sonea rose slowly. The teacher's head turned and he regarded her coldly.

"Except you, Sonea," he added, belatedly. "You will remain here."

This time all of the novices turned to stare at her. She blinked from one face to another, feeling strangely guilty as understanding dawned in their eyes.

"Go on," urged the teacher. The novices turned away. Sonea lowered herself back into her chair and watched the class file out. Only one turned to glance at her again before he stepped through the door. His lips curled up in a sneer. Regin.

"Sonea."

She jumped and turned to stare at the teacher, surprised that he was still there.

"Yes, my lord."

His eyes lost a little of their chilliness and he moved across the room to stand beside her seat. "As you have already achieved the First and Second Levels of Control, I have brought you the first book the class will study." Sonea lowered her eyes to a small paper-covered book he held in his hand. "There will be practical exercises to go with the book, but they will involve all of the class. You will still gain much from studying the information in this."

He placed the book on the table and turned away.

"Thank you, Lord Elben," she said to his back.

He paused and turned to regard her with mild surprise, then continued to the door.

The room was empty and silent after he had gone. Sonea looked around at the other desks and chairs. She counted nine crooked seats.

She looked at the book on her desk and read: Six Lessons for New Novices, by Lord Liden, and a date. The book was over a century old. How many novices had worked their way through these exercises? She flicked through the pages. The script, she saw with relief, was clear and easy to read.

Magic is a useful art, but not without limitations. A magician's natural area of influence lies within his or her body, the skin being the boundary of this area. Minimal effort is required to influence magic within this space. No other magician may influence this space, unless he or she is Healing, which requires skin to skin contact.

To influence what lies beyond the body, more effort is required. The farther away the object to be influenced is from the body, the more ejffort is required. The same limitation is true of mental communication, though it is not as taxing as most magical tasks.

Rothen had told her as much, but she continued reading. Some time later, after she had read three of the lessons and was beginning on the fourth, two novices returned to the room. The first she recognized as Gennyl, the half-Lonmar boy who had gained a guardian during the ceremony. His companion was the other tall Lonmar boy. They glanced at her once as they moved to seats halfway down the classroom. She could sense a difference about them, as if their presence was amplified. She guessed this meant their powers had been released. They would soon learn to hide it, as she had. It appeared that achieving the First Level wasn't difficult or slow. The Second Level, she knew, was harder.

A murmuring conversation began, in the liquid language of their homeland. Another novice entered the room—a Kyralian boy with dark circles under his eyes. Sitting down, he remained silent, rigidly staring at his desk.

There was something strange about this one. She could sense an aura of magic about him, too, but it pulsed erratically, sometimes strong, sometimes fading beyond detection. Not wanting to upset him any further by her staring, she looked away. Until the novices had achieved both First and Second Levels of Control, she might sense all kinds of strange things from them.

A laugh outside the doorway caught her attention before she could start reading again. This time five novices filed into the room, leaving only Regin missing. Without a figure of authority to watch them, the novices lounged around, sitting on their desks and talking in little groups. Her senses buzzed with their magical presences.

No one approached Sonea. She was both relieved and disappointed. They didn't know what to expect from her, she reasoned, so they avoided her. She would have to make the first attempt to be friendly. If she didn't, then they might decide she didn't want to mix with them.

The pretty Elyne girl sat nearby, rubbing her temples. Remembering how Control lessons had given Rothen headaches, Sonea wondered if this girl might appreciate a little sympathy. Slowly, trying to look confident, she rose and moved across the room to the girl's table.

"It isn't easy, is it?" Sonea ventured.

The girl's eyes lifted to hers in surprise, then she shrugged and looked back down at her table. When no reply came, Sonea began to suspect, with a growing sickness in her stomach, that the girl was ignoring her.

"I don't like her," the girl said suddenly, in a strong Elyne accent.

Sonea blinked in puzzlement. "Like who?"

"Lady Kinla," the girl said irritably. She pronounced the name as "Keenlar."

"The one teaching you Control? Hmmm, that would make it hard."

"It's not that Lady Kinla's a bad person," the girl sighed. "It's just that I don't want her in my mind. She's so …" The girl's red curls swayed as she shook her head.

The seat in front of the Elyne girl was empty. Sonea lowered herself into it and turned to face the girl.

"You don't want her to see some things in your mind?" Sonea prompted. "Things that aren't wrong or bad, but things you don't want just any person seeing?"

"Yes, that's it," the girl looked up, her eyes wide and haunted, "but I have to let her see them, don't I?"

Sonea frowned. "No, you don't have to … well, I don't know exactly what you want to keep from her, but… well… those things can be hidden."

The girl was staring at Sonea now.

"How?"

"You imagine a kind of doorway and put them behind it," Sonea explained. "Lady Kinla will probably see what you've done but she won't try to get to them just as Rothen didn't try to get to mine."

The girl's eyes widened further still. "Lord Rothen taught you Control? He was in your mind?" she gasped.

"Yes." Sonea nodded.

"But he's a man."

"Well … he taught me. Is that why you have a lady teacher? Do you have to be taught by a woman?"

"Of course." The girl was staring at her in horror.

Sonea shook her head slowly. "I didn't know. I don't see how it would make any difference being taught by a male or female magician. Perhaps …" She frowned. "If I couldn't have hidden away all my secret thoughts it would have been better to have a woman teach me."

The girl had pulled away from Sonea a little. "It would be wrong for a girl of our age to share her mind with a man."

Sonea shrugged. "It's just minds. It's like talking, but quicker. There's nothing wrong with talking to a man, is there?"

"No …"

"You just don't talk about certain things." Sonea gave her a meaningful look.

A slow smile spread across the girl's face. "No … except on special occasions, I suppose."

"Issle." A sharp voice cut across the noise in the room. Sonea looked up to see a middle-aged woman in green robes standing in the doorway.

"You've rested long enough. Come with me."

"Yes, my lady," the girl sighed.

"Good luck," Sonea offered as the girl hurried away. She wasn't sure if Issle had heard, as the girl disappeared through the door without a backward glance.

Sonea looked down at the book in her hands and allowed herself a small smile. It was a start. Perhaps, later, she would talk to Issle again.

Returning to her desk, she continued reading.

Projection:

Moving an object is quicker and easier if in sight. Moving an object outside of view may be done by extending the mind sense to locate it first. This takes more effort and time, however, and…

Bored, Sonea began to watch the novices coming and going. She listened for their names, and tried to guess what they were like. Shern, the Kyralian boy with the dark circles under his eyes, had winced when his teacher returned and called his name. He had looked up at the magician with haunted eyes, and reluctance had been expressed in every movement as he had pushed back his chair and shuffled over to the door.

Regin had befriended two boys, Kano and Vallon. The shy Kyralian girl listened to their conversation attentively, and the Elyne boy drew little pictures in a paper-covered book. When Issle returned she collapsed in her seat and buried her head in her arms. Sonea had heard the others complaining of headaches and decided to leave the girl alone.

When the gong chimed at midbreak, Sonea let out a quiet sigh of relief. All she had done was read lessons she already knew, constantly distracted by the coming and going of the other novices. It hadn't been a particularly interesting first lesson.

Lord Elben strode into the room, causing the novices to scuttle hastily to their seats. He waited until they had settled, then cleared his throat.

"We will resume Control lessons at the same time tomorrow," he told them. "Your next class will be Guild history, held in the second history room upstairs. You may leave now."

Several sighs of relief could be heard around the class. The novices rose, bowed to the teacher and started for the door. Hanging back, Sonea noted that the Elyne boy had joined Regin's group of new friends. She followed quietly, handing the teacher back his book as she passed, then lengthened her stride to catch up with Issle.

"Was it better the second time?"

The girl looked at Sonea, then nodded. "I did what you said. It didn't work, but I think it might next time."

"That's good. Everything gets easier after that."

They walked in silence for several paces. Sonea searched for something to say.

"You're Issle of Fonden, aren't you?" a voice observed.

Issle turned and stopped as Regin and the other two novices approached.

"Yes," she said, smiling prettily.

"Whose father is adviser to King Marend?" Regin asked, his brows rising.

"That's right."

"I am Regin of Winar," he bowed with exaggerated politeness, "of House Paren. Can I escort you to the Foodhall?"

Her smile broadened. "I'd be honored."

"No." Regin smiled silkily. "It is I who will be honored."

He stepped forward between Sonea and Issle, forcing Sonea to move backward to avoid him, and took the girl's arm. Regin's companions fell in behind the pair as they continued down the corridor. None looked at Sonea, and she found herself at the back of the group. When they had descended the stairs of the University she stopped and watched them walk away without a backward glance.

Issle hadn't even thanked her. I shouldn't be surprised, she told herself. They're rich brats with no manners.

No, she scolded herself. Don't be unfair to them. If I'd been asked to accept one of them in Harrin's gang, it wouldn't have been easy. Eventually they'll forget that I'm different. Just give them time.