"Halt!" a loud voice shouted through the trees.

"I've got a hunch that he'd like us to stop," Altair said grimly. Gawain rolled his eyes and stood still.

"Put your hands where I can see them," the voice barked, "and turn around slowly."

"Want me to eat him?" Altair muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Gawain's mouth twisted into a thoughtful line. The pause dragged out. "Nah," he decided, "you don't know where he's been." Gawain raised his arms and opened his hands flat so they could see he wasn't holding anything. He turned around.

Three guards stood on the banks of the brook. They all wore the standard-issue chain mail shirts and helmets Gawain remember from his childhood, but the red and cold tunic had been replaced with silver and blue. His father's golden falcon was gone too, replaced by a large black dragon. The man in the middle was the only one wearing any plate armour. It encased his shoulders and coiled itself down his right arm.

"Want me to show you my teeth?" Altair called to them, peeling back his lips. Gawain kneed him in the shoulder.

"What?" Altair said, turning his head to look up at him, "it's just as stupid as 'show me your hands.' What use is that when they're that far away and most of us have magic?"

Gawain looked back at the guards. The two shorter men were exchanging looks behind their captain's backs.

"I think you're making them nervous," Gawain mutter to Altair, barely moving his lips. "Shut up."

Altair snorted his derision and lay down in the grass with a pointed yawn.

"Forgive my familiar!" Gawain called, making eye contact with the Captain. "Is there some kind of problem? Did we do something wrong?" The captain glowered at him across the stream.

"We were told outlaws had been seen in these parts," he replied, his tone laced with suspicion.

"We're not outlaws," Gawain told him. "We're with the Alliance. Look, if you let me put my arms down I can show you my badge." He gestured at his coat. It was his favourite. Long, leather and travel-worn if was suitably weathered and made a doughty defence against the cold and wet. Shaman had been nothing but wet since they arrived.

The captain nodded stiffly. Gawain smiled his thanks and reached into his inside pocket. He produced his badge in its leather case and threw it towards the guards. His shortened fingers twitched as he guided it safely over the stream with his magic. It landed neatly, badge-up at the Captain's feet. He stooped down and picked it up, studying it thoughtfully. The glanced pointedly between Gawain and the picture on the accompanying card. Gawain waited patiently.
"Guy Penry," the Captain said to the man on his right. "Make a note of that sergeant. His Grace will want a record." He snapped the case shut and held it out.

"He wants you to walk over there now to get it," Altair growled under his breath, "unbelievable."
"It's not like he's asking me to nail it to my forehead, Alt," Gawain sighed, stepping over the lounging lynx and wandering back towards the brook, his hands in his pockets.

"That all seems to be in order, then" the Captain said. Gawain accepted his badge and put it back in his pocket. "Apologies for the inconvenience."

"Not at all," Gawain smiled.

The guard shuffled off, leaving him to it. Gawain shook his head as he ran his fingers through his hair in disbelief. Shaman really wasn't anything like he remembered it. He turned back to Altair.

"See, that was relatively painless, wasn't it?"

Altair wasn't listening. He was staring off into the trees, his ears flicked forwards.

"There's someone out there," Altair said at last, keeping his eyes on the trees.

"More guards?" Gawain asked, closing the space between them. He followed Altair's line of sight, looking for a tell-tale flash of blue.

"No," Altair said, shaking his head. "Cat."

Before Gawain could say anything, Altair ran off into the undergrowth, his great black wings tucked tight to his sides. Gawain followed him, tracing his trail through the trees. His footfalls were soft, well-practiced at avoiding detection. He kept to the shadows, listening hard, his hand curled around the grip of his sword.

---

"I thought it was you," Altair growled, jumping out of his tree. "I never forget a smell." He sat down to flex his wings, keeping one eye on the solid shape lurking amongst the shadows. "Hello, Josephine."

Gawain