I Don't Fly ((Cue Mordecai))

The wind was strong as Amelia ran past the lake, her steps falling heavily on the rain-deprived ground. Fall had come early to Hogwarts, and with it a chill in the air that made her lungs ache in protest as she continued on, over the rolling grounds. The wind picked up waves on the lake, making small white crests where one usually saw nothing but his reflection.

Right left right left right left Amelia’s mind was blissfully clear of thought as she ran past the greenhouses, seeing the herbology professor cultivating a crop of Mandrake plants. She remembered the lesson on these plants distinctly, but chose to let the memory slip from her mind as she focused on nothing more than her steps and breathing in and out.

For the first time in almost a week, Amelia was blissfully alone. Between classes, helping Subastian deal with his “problem”, and her prefect duties, she was finding it difficult to relish in the solitude she so enjoyed. It was for this reason that she had laced up her tennis shoes early in the morning, heading outside just as the sun had begun to peek through the trees of the forbidden forest, still low enough on the horizon to keep the grounds in shadows. Amelia felt a bit like a shadow as she ran through the deserted grounds, her steps the only sounds to break the silence.

The sun was higher now, but not by much. As she saw the quidditch pitch come into view she forced herself forward, leaning into a sprint toward the entrance gates to the stadium. Her legs burned when she arrived at the gates, but she kept herself moving, allowing her muscles to cool down a bit as she jogged onto the pitch.

The quidditch pitch was not a place Amelia was all that familiar with. She had never played the game, and although most students were required to take lessons in their first year, her mother had blissfully exempt her from them, claiming it was not a very “ladylike” way for Amelia to be spending her time. For once, Amelia was glad for her mother’s old-fashioned attitudes, as it had allowed her to keep her feet solidly on the ground.

Amelia took a lap around the pitch, taking in the scenery which was mostly foreign to her. She imagined the stadium looked much different on game day, but she had never seen it in its rowdy glory. Not much for social situations or sporting events, Amelia mostly avoided the crowds of people who headed toward the pitch on Saturday and enjoyed the castle’s emptiness instead.

Upon finishing her lap, Amelia leaned over, placing her hands on her knees and breathing deeply. She pushed the stray curls away from her face, finger combing them back into place in the ponytail which held most of her hair back. She was flushed, both from the chill in the air and from the run, but she felt good. Although her thoughts would eventually catch up with her, Amelia was content to know that she had outrun them, at least for a little while.

Mordecai breathed in deeply and let out a happy sigh.

What a day for flying.

Standing alone on the Astronomy tower, he was blissfully alone and removed from the slowly waking population of underage wizards that were housed in the castle walls below him. It was Saturday. God did he love Saturdays. First day of the weekend and one that was dedicated strictly to Mordecai Warton's Flying Time. During the week he was either attempting to teach first years the proper technique of griping a broom handle or reffing Quidditch practices as the house teams geared up for the upcoming Quidditch season. Having just retired from over two decades of making a living off of the back of his broomstick Mordecai was actually delighted when he was accepted for the job as Quid coach. He wasn't getting any younger and how hard could it be to show a bunch of kids the freedoms of flying? Boy, Mordecai had no idea what he had gotten himself into. Sure the job was less demanding than his old one but it was by no means less stressful.

Sometimes Mordecai mused that he had traded in his team robes for a bulls-eye painted on his back. Trouble just seemed to follow him around in this place. But then again, what was life without a little chaos thrown in?

"Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr." Mordecai growled loudly as he clasped his hands behind his back and stretched out his shoulder blades until he felt his spine give in with a faint "pop". Ahhh, much better. He hated flying when he was stiff in the joints. It was possible that he had arthritis in his elbows and knees, a common occurance among retired players, but he wasn't about to let a few creaking bones stop him from taking to the air on his day off. Nuh-uh. Today was his fly day and he was going to whip himself back into shape even if he ended up plowing into the Whomping Willow by the end of it due to sheer exhaustion.

"The sirens are screaming and the fires are howling, way down in the valley tonight," He hummed under his breath as he picked up his broom that he had placed against the tower door. Memories crept into his mind of games past when he would be the first to take to the air in the Grand Stadium in order to lead his team onto the Pitch. He always had a way of making an entrance. A real bat outta hell was what they called him. A faint grin crept onto his face as Mordecai glanced at the turrets and shrugged.

What the hell. Why not?

Without giving it a second thought the Quidditch Coach hauled himself up onto the stone turrets and paused for a moment as the chill autumn air whipped around him, snagging at his hair and the robe of one of his old Quidditch robes that he had decided to wear. The grin spread into a full-out smile as he closed his eyes and listened to the wind shriek in his ears. To him it sounded like the screaming applause of tens of thousands of fans. With his broom grasped firmly in his right hand Mordecai ran his left hand through his hair and did what no one in the vicinity of the school would ever in their right mind think of doing. He threw himself off the tower with his broom tucked tightly to his side and plummeted like a stone.

Gravity snagged him like a fish hook and hauled him downward as he gathered speed. His eyes remained closed as he silently counted down from ten. Nine. Eight. Seven....ahhh screw it. One!

"Like a bat outta hell!" He roared into the wind as he snapped his eyes opened and brought his broomstick in front of him. Mordecai never did end up splattered on the front lawn of the school. With a good ten feet left to go he wrapped his legs around the broom handle and the moment he had a full grip on his broom he reserved his direction and shot skyward like a human cannonball. Now this was flying! He was astride one of his personal racing brooms and the wind had a hard time keeping up with him as he streaked across the sky like a colourful human-shaped rocket. Higher and higher he climbed, heading skyward as he angled himself toward the large mass on the east side of the school. The Pitch was calling to him and he didn't want to disappoint.

If a student had attempted to tried what he was about to do he would have boxed the kid's ears in and taken their broomstick away for a year least they end up pasting themselves against one of the Pitch towers or wrapped around a goalpost. Lucky for him there was no one around to see him pull a few semi-illegal stunts. Or so he thought.

With a howl of pure unbridled exhilaration Mordecai hovered a good eighty feet in the air as he eyed the ground below him. The Pitch was the size of an ant farm from where he sat and his destination was the tiny white dot that signaled the center point of the arena. With a flick of his wrist Mordecai took out a pair of Quid goggles from the folds of his robes and strapped them on before he quickly tied back his hair in order to keep it out of his line of vision. He was going to need all of his focus in order to stick the landing or else the Groundskeeper was going to have to shovel dirt over him because he would end up ploughed into the dirt.

Well, here's to high flying!

Both hands were wrapped around the front of his broom as he locked his ankles at the spot right over the tail where the footrests met. He lowered his body onto the broomstick in such a way that he present as minimal amount of wind resistance as possible before he angled his bodyweight forward ever so slightly. The broomstick reacted instantly and once again Mordecai shot downward at a 90 degree angle, straight for his mark. If diving from that height at that speed wasn't deadly enough Mordecai waited until he had gathered just the right amount of velocity before he put himself into a tight controlled spin. Suddenly the world made no sense and the green patch that he was staring at was nothing but a pretty blur of colour.

Like a human corkscrew he tunneled through the wind ignoring the tiny voice in the back of his mind that was screaming at him to pull up. If he always gave into that voice he never would have been able to do the things he had done nor had pushed himself as far as anyone had ever dared to go. Quidditch players by nature were fearless and most had a death wish. Mordecai did but that wish didn't include him ending up scattered across a school field.

Pull up now?

Mordecai whirled downward.

How about now? Pull up now?

The spins got tighter and tighter.

Now. Now was a good time. Pull up now!

Mordecai would have grinned if the wind hadn't been trying to peel the flesh off his face.

NOW! PULL UP YOU MORON!

Mordecai rested his chin against the smooth handle and rode gravity's pull as the ground rose up to meet him.

Aaaaaaand that was enough.

The air around his seemed to shriek as he jarred the broom upward just as the ground was ready to meet him head on. The neatly clipped blades of grass quivered as the tips of the broom's tail twigs lightly brushed them and Mordecai swallowed hard as his stomach threatened to escape through his mouth. The sudden dead stop had jilted his spine and his arse was going to hate him by the end of the day but Mordecai couldn't help but smile.

Yep, he still had it.

Amelia’s breathing had slowed the longer she stood idle, taking deeper breaths as the icy air punctuated her tired lungs with tiny pinpricks. The muscles in her legs burned with lactic acid and chicken skin was starting to rise on her exposed limbs. She didn’t feel the cold, though, despite her shorts and tank top. If anyone else had dared to go out in such an ensemble in late fall they might have been chilled right through, but running kept Amelia’s body radiating enough heat to keep her plenty warm, even in spite of the elements she faced.

Her lungs now functioning to their full potential again, Amelia returned herself to full height, arching her back to extend her spine. She found that the repeated pounding her spine took when she ran made it stiff and stretching it out after a run saved her a lot of pain later on. Her back cracked menacingly as she arched rolling her body in a vertical spiral to get out all the kinks. The noise wasn’t pretty, but the feeling was divine.

Amelia continued to stretch, lifting a foot to extend her quads, leaning over to touch her toes. She anticipated running another few miles, but she usually took a break mid-run to keep from overextending herself. Amelia had a habit of pushing herself to go too far, too hard, and that is where problems arose. And not just in running, either.

Ahhh…

Amelia lifted her hands above her head, reaching toward the sky that was just lighting with the first rays of the Saturday sun. It was a glorious day already, quiet and calm. It was a pity that other students were missing it while they slept in their beds, but if she had to share this morning with someone else, Amelia wondered if she would enjoy it quite as much.

Probably not.

Always a realist, Amelia chided the voice in her head, bringing her hands down slowly and stretching her shoulders as they fell. She rolled her body once more toward the ground, pressing her palms flat against the chilly grass. The blades were crunchy with cold and lack of water, and when she stood back up she realized she had accidentally leaned against the chalked lines.

Damn.

Amelia slapped her hands against one another to chase the dust from them, wiping them finally on her shorts to remove the last of the white. She had left fingerprints on the cotton material of her shorts, but she figured since no one was awake to witness them it hardly mattered. She reached once again toward the heavens, her head rolling back to watch…

… a person in the sky?

Amelia immediately dropped her hands, her eyes widening as she attempted to identify the small speck which seemed to be getting larger the longer she looked. The figure was blurred by speed and was only accelerating further as it neared the pitch. When it cleared the tops of the spectator towers, Amelia thought she saw that it was a man, but with the quick motion her eyes were too strained to be absolutely sure.

For a moment Amelia though about pulling out her wand to create a cushion for whoever it was, thinking he was falling, but she realized as she was reaching for it that whoever it was had complete control of the situation. The spiral was too regular, too tight to have been an accident. He was getting awfully close to the ground, though, far too close for Amelia’s comfort. She watched in horror as he closed in on the last 15 meters, wishing now that she had cast the spell.

I can’t watch! Amelia thought, covering her eyes automatically to avoid the sight of the individual’s collision with the hard earth. She waited a full minute for the sound of the crash, far longer than it would have taken to close the space between the broom and the ground judging by the speed he had been going when she had last looked. Realizing this, Amelia spread her fingers just slightly, looking to the spot on the field she had thought of as the imminent place of impact, but there was nothing but clear, green grass, just as before.

Seeing no catastrophe, Amelia pulled her hands away from her face, looking around fervently for the man who had almost made himself into a human oil drill. She found him coasting inches from the ground, upright this time, a few hundred meters across the pitch. He didn’t seem to be harmed, though Amelia could feel her own heartbeat still racing in her chest, too stunned by what she had just witnessed to even move herself to a place where she might not be seen.

Who in the world starts a Saturday like that? Who starts any day like that? What was he thinking?

RrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

A small flock of grouse who had been nesting near the entrance of the Pitch quickly took to the air with wildly flapping wings, having been startled out of their early morning rest by the echoing roar that erupted from the confines of the Quidditch field. Who could blame them? One minute the day was calm and quiet and the next something or someone was going off like a bullhorn. Tck!

Mordecai's booming barks of laughter filled the Pitch as the last remnants of his victory cry faded into the morning sky. Ahhhhhhhh by the blazin' Scottish sun it felt good to be alive! The sun was shining, the wind was on his side today and the Pitch was empty. What more could a man ask for?

"Time to bring in day." Mordecai said to himself, completely at ease with his surroundings. He loved the early morning when there were no prying eyes to watch him go about his business nor inquisitive minds to ponder over his actions. What he did on his mornings was something most of the students here would think completely barmy. Had they ever attended a New Zealand match they would have thought differently.

Looking neither left nor right Mordecai dismounted and stepped aside as his broom gently drifted downward in order to rest on the grass on its own accord. Had he been paying the slightest bit of attention to the edge of the stands he would have felt a pair of eyes on the back of his head. However Mordecai was too focused on the task at hand to tune into the feeling of being watched. Clearing his mind of the constant buzz of everyday worries he breathed in deeply and tugged his hair free from the ponytail that had kept it in place. Next came the robes and he shrugged out of his thick knit sweater that he had worn under the cape in order to keep the north wind's chill out of his bones. He tossed everything aside and stood alone in the middle of the pitch naked from the waist up. A large black Maori tribal tattoo curled around his right bicep and snaked onto his shoulder blade in a complicated swirling patter of jagged lines and precise dots. On his chest, inked right over his heart, was a large and rather frightening looking visage of a Maori Tekoteko head with its tongue protruding from between curved tusks. The eyes that scowled from behind a menacing frown were multicolored and even from a distance the smoldering gaze seemed to glare daggers at the world at large. Protection and the path of self-discovering were etched onto his body and the images alone showed the mettle of the man that preferred to live life in the clouds rather than on the ground.

"Ringa pakia! Uma tiraha! Turi whatia! Hope whai ake! Waewae takahia kia kino!" (Slap the hands against the thighs! Puff out the chest! Bend the knees! Let the hip follow! Stamp the feet as hard as you can!) Mordecai's voice roared into the stands as he turned to face the North and shifted into a straight backed fighter's stance. Only the wind howled in response to his command but Mordecai wasn't even aware of it. His eyes were open but they held a bright gleam in them that made his usually cheerful demeanor a thing of the past. Standing there alone in a school pitch wasn't the school's passionate Quidditch coach. Stand there cocooned by twenty years of tradition was Morty Drover, the New Zealand National player, scrapper and team captain. And Morty Drover was about to throw down his challenge.



Each command was followed by a precise and timed action as Mordecai let loose his stand-alone Haka in honour of the sanctity of the Pitch and all the memories it carried. It was a tradition in New Zealand for all Kiwi players in any sport, be it muggle or magical, to perform the fabled Haka before the start of any match. It didn't have the same impact as it would have had there been an entire team behind him following his lead but a one-man haka still had the heart of it. Reaching for the sky Mordecai slammed his right hand over his heart and swung his arm out in a stylized gesture that was meant to offer his thanks for the new day and for being deemed worthy to be allowed on the Pitch.

To a Quidditch player, the Pitch was the life, the cathedral, the sacred space where battles were fought and the hearts of men were put to the test. It wasn't just some silly field with a bunch of bleachers. It wasn't a spectacle to be see and had by the mundane. It was a place where you came to live or to die. And for the Oceanic teams, the Pitch was the Dream Time, a place where energy, memories and experiences came together to form something truly out of this world.

Only when his voice finally died down did Mordecai relax from his stance and straightened himself out. The cold was getting to him but he didn't dive back into his robes just yet. There was something about feeling the wind on his bare skin that made Mordecai feel connected to the earth in a way that was lost to most people in this day and age. There was magic in the ground under him and in the air around him. Everything lived and breathed around him and through him and maybe it was this style of thinking that kept Mordecai from turning into a crotchety old man with aching joints and a chip on his shoulder a mile wide.

Sighing to himself Mordecai gave his head a good shake and tapped back into reality. What time was it? He wondered how long he had before he had to make his way in for the morning meal and teacher conference that was being held around noon. Bah. Meetings. Mordecai hated being cooped up and lectured at when half the stuff that was being said didn't even concern him. Ah well, it was part of the job and he had to take the good as well as the not so good.

Heading back to where his robes lay scattered on top of his broomstick Mordecai paused for a moment as he reached down to nab his sweater. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. Someone was near.

"Who's there?" He called out as he straightened and glared about the Pitch. Who was out here at this time on a Saturday? He made no move to grab his wand as his eyes swept over the stands first and seeing no one, scoured the shadows of the off-field. Was it a student? A professor? Or was it something that had no business being here.

"DeadMeat if that's you I'm gonna knock your blinkin' block off." Mordecai growled as he squinted at one of the towers. The tawny Hippogriff that Mordecai had formally dubbed DeadMeat was quite the character and had a fetish for stealing Quidditch gear. This wouldn't be the first time that Mordecai would have to chase the git back into the Forbidden Forest.

(Here's an example of the Haka preformed by the New Zealand All Blacks Rugby team: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tdMCAV6Yd0Y)

The sound of the man’s yelping broke Amelia’s reverie, sending her careening back into reality. The jolt back to reality closed her mouth, which she hadn’t even realized had been hanging open in astonishment at the absolute insanity of what she had just seen. A flock of birds near the field entrance scattered at the sound, and Amelia took their lead and moved into the shadow of a Slytherin tower.

The temperature was just barely cooler in the shade than it had been in the open air of the pitch, but it was a small price to pay to go unnoticed. She hadn’t the foggiest idea who the man could be, nor why he was up to such antics on the quidditch pitch so early in the morning. Although he had just stared death directly in the face, he was laughing, a fact that shocked Amelia ever the more.

Needing a chance to reorganize her thoughts, Amelia stepped to the side of the cubical tower that would shield her completely from view of the man who had interrupted her solitude. The green fabric gave a little as she leaned into it, cocooning her slightly against the wind.

How am I going to get out of here? I can’t possibly make it to the entrance without him seeing me, and heaven only knows what might happen if I was spotted.

Amelia was trying not to be worked up about the situation, but she had been thrown seriously off balance by the man’s surprise arrival. She had grown very accustomed to having the grounds to herself in the early morning and had learned to appreciate the quiet and calm that running brought to her. Her mother appreciated it because it helped her to keep a slender figure, but Amelia usually just shook her head at this. Staying in shape was the least of her motivations to run.

Maybe he will go in for another death dive and I can make it out while he is distracted by the impending ground?

The thought seemed promising, so Amelia lifted herself from the fabric and peered around the side of the tower. It took her only a moment to find the object of her anxiety, and this time, he was half naked. His clothes lay in a heap on the ground and he appeared to be chanting, though the words were swept away by the wind before they could reach Amelia’s ears.

What now?

She watched as he went through a series of motions, something that seemed like a cross between karate and ballet to Amelia. His mouth moved as he did, his movements pronounced and purposeful. He looked almost graceful, Amelia thought, as though he had done this many times before and was letting his body lead him. His movement was unmuddled by planning or thought, and Amelia found herself enraptured. The tattoos which snaked across his body seemed to come alive as the muscles beneath them moved and she could not decide whether to be afraid or respectful of the man who could control his body so well.

When his movement finally ceased Amelia realized her had been holding her breath. She let it out slowly, feeling as though she had just been a spectator to something that she was sure was meant to be a private experience. As the man relaxed and returned to a more normal – more human – posture, Amelia still could not bring herself to take her eyes away. He was fascinating in way that most of the students here weren’t, and although the pangs of fear ran through her after seeing what he was capable of, she could not bring herself to run.

She watched as he went to gather his clothes, but a moment later he straightened unexpectedly and she nearly tripped trying to get back behind the tower. She hadn’t been fast enough, though, because she could hear the man shouting in her direction, still indistinctly because of the wind, she distinctly though she heard the phrase "dead meat".

What do I do, what do I do? Amelia felt her heart racing again, much in the same way it had as she watched the man plummet toward the earth, though this time she feared more for herself than for him. Clearly, this man was more than capable of taking care of himself.

Just run!

I can’t run! Did you see the size of that guy? He would catch me for sure!

How do you know he will chase you?

I can’t run!!!

Isn’t that what you are out here to do?

The two divisions of Amelia’s mind were having a rapid fire debate about the best course of action, but didn’t seem to be getting any closer to a decision. She clung to the fabric of the tower, knowing now it was no good to her because the man had clearly noticed her presence. He didn’t sound as though he was going to just let her wander off, and she was running out of both time and options.

Oh to hell with it! Amelia decided suddenly, pushing off from the tower and digging her toes into the turf of the pitch. She brought herself out from behind the tower and into clear view, but she didn’t intend to linger long. She was already in motion toward the doors of the stadium, her long legs striding to their fullest potential, but the width of the pitch was no small distance to cover.

How do I always seem to get myself into these situations?

Wuzthat?

Mordecai squinted as he saw something, more of a blur of colour, streak out from the shadows of the Slytherine Tower and make a break for the main entrance. Ah ha! There it goes!

Mordecai didn't stop to consider what he had just seen, or had barely seen for that matter. He knew that his long distance vision was shoddy and yet he still refused to wear the pair of spectacles that some head doctor down at the Quid Rehab center had given to him. Him of all people to wear glasses. And how the hell was he supposed to fly if he had to worry about fogging lenses and wind resistance? Well the glasses were doing their job just fine by filling the role of his favorite paperweight. They were the farthest thing on his mind as he snatched up his gear and hooked his right leg over the middle of his broomstick. He kicked off the ground at an angle that allowed him to make a beeline for the main gates while keeping low to the ground. Judging from the motion of the unknown observer it was clearly human which was a relief in itself. Mordecai didn't fancy going a round of Air Waltzing with DeadMeat that morning. He was still trying to recover from his last bout with the brute that ended up with him taking a header right into the icy waters of the lake. Not a pleasant experience to be sure especially to a person who didn't mix well with near-freezing temperatures.

"OY! Holl'up there!" Mordecai tilted the front end of the broom a fraction to the right in order to achieve enough of a drag that would slow him down slightly so that he could match the pace of the young lady who was trying to devour as much turf as she possibly could. He couldn't help but arch an eyebrow as he put all of his weight onto his right side which caused the broom to whip around in a 180 turn while still keeping in time to her beat.

"Where's the fire?" Doing what many would consider improbable but not impossible, Mordecai kept an eye on Amelia as he concentrated on keeping the broom on course. Flying backward was a hell of a lot harder than it looked and it would end badly if he ended up flat on his back before he even knew the girl's name.

"I hope I didn' scare ya back there." He couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. Poor girl probably walked in at the wrong moment and thought he was some sort of raving mad-man with a hankering for screaming. Well the Haka was meant to instill fear but he wasn't out to crush skulls with his bare hands and rip the still-beating hearts out of young innocent chests. Mind you that would be a great teaching tactic the next time some Quidditch players decided to get out of hand. He'd have to remember that one.

"Is this a long distance thing or do you really not like me?" He asked while a sly grin crept onto his face, reaching up to his eyes. Deciding to cut the girl some slack he came to a sudden halt and sat there on his broomstick, crossing his arms over his bare chest while his sweater and flying robes stayed where they were, hung over his right shoulder. If she kept on running well he wouldn't stop her. He'd probably hear all about it at breakfast from the other professors who were far to concerned about the rules and regulations of this place. A half-naked Wildman performing some sort of strange savage ritual on the Quidditch Pitch? How uncivilized! Indeed. How very unBritishlike.

Mordecai had to bite his tongue to keep himself from snickering at the thought. If those pompous scroll scribblers thought this was outta line, just wait until Game Day rolled around. Ohhh they’d be in for a real treat, bless their tweed wearing hearts.

Amelia’s legs couldn’t seem to carry her fast enough as the pitch blurred around her. She was running flat out, pushing her already tired legs toward the entrance, but her escape was not going nearly as planned. As she had feared, the man she had been spying on – which was really a harsh term for what she had been doing, since she had been there first – had decided to come after her, and he wasn’t using his feet. That bewitched broom of his was carrying him faster than she could run and it wouldn’t be long before he closed the distance between them

She could hear him shouting at her to slow down, his voice getting closer all the while. Amelia didn’t know what the man wanted or who he was, but her natural flight tendency – she wasn’t entirely sure she even had a fight tendency, which made the usual fight or flight decision much easier – pushed her toward the entrance, hoping for all it was worth that this time his flying skills would fail him and she would somehow outrun him.

No luck.

The man had caught up with her, doing some fancy maneuver on his broom which allowed him to fly backward, a feat Amelia hadn’t even realized was possible. She wasn’t exactly up on her flying knowledge, but she was faintly aware that there should be some aerodynamic hindrance to doing that. His words were clichéd, but somehow when he said he spoke as if he were the person that invented the phrase. Amelia didn’t stop running, despite the man making a physical obstacle in front of her. If she stopped being quick on her feet she might not be able to think quickly either, and Amelia was finding it harder and harder to keep her thoughts in line where this anomaly of a man was concerned.

He hopes he didn’t scare me? Amelia thought, failing entirely at disguising her amusement at this statement. The man had been yelling, doing some sort of kung fu, and had nearly turned himself into the spire of a dirt and grass kabob. If that wasn’t a scary sight to see on a Saturday morning, Amelia didn’t know what was. But when he said this aloud, Amelia couldn’t help but find the humor in it. She still couldn’t find anything she might want to say to this crazy individual who still flew in front of her, but at least she could laugh a bit about it.

The man’s last question brought a smile to his face, lighting up his eyes in a way that made him seem far more amiable than he had appeared from a distance. His face was weather worn, like it had seen too much wind, and his eyes wrinkled up at the edges when he smiled. Distracted by the change in his face, Amelia missed the “we’re stopping” memo and her leg ended up propelling into the handle of his broomstick, bringing her running to a sudden, and painful, halt.

“Ouch!” Amelia said, putting pressure on the spot on her leg where a bruise was already forming, “A little warning next time might be nice!”

She hadn’t meant it, but her voice came across far harsher than she intended. After a minute of inspecting the damage to her leg and making sure all the muscles were in working order, she stood back up to her full height, crossing her arms in front of her defensively, inspecting the man for any sign she had done irreparable damage to him. Seeing none, she sighed, resigned to asking him whether or not he had sustained any injuries before she could leave. Except now, the pull toward the castle was somewhat less, for a reason Amelia hadn’t yet identified.

“You’re alright, aren’t you?” she asked, having a hard time not being distracted by the tattoos across his chest and back. She focused on keeping her eyes on his and away from the bare skin on his torso, blocking her thoughts from escaping through the windows that were her eyes.