The Recommendation

"Join the guard?"

Butterfly wings erupted in Zorah's middle. She sat up straighter and folded her hands on the table. She swallowed, but it was the only outward sign of her fear. "What does the process entail?"

The dwarf outlined the basics of joining the guard, and then beckoned for Zorah to follow him to the back.

He presented her with a pair of silvery grey gloves.

"Part of my uniform?" He shook his head and grinned. Mystified, she put them on, only to stifle a scream as the tips lengthened into sharp points. She waved them wildly, causing them to grow another few inches. "What the hell are these?" The dwarf chuckled as she glared at him. He taught her the basics and, after a few swipes, the glittering claws shifted back into the gloves and Zorah went back out to the table to display her new weapons.

"I don't want to hear any jokes pertaining to cats," said Zorah with a raised brow.

-

Zorah went home, the new gloves stowed safely away. She pulled out a piece of parchment, a quill and ink, and an old letter.

A candle was lit and the materials dumped on the table. Zorah sat and bit her lip, thinking, then dipped her quill in the soft, dark ink and wrote slowly, careful to flourish the appropriate symbols, glancing every so often at the old, crumpled letter.

At the end of the piece, she left a large, blank rectangle. She studied the signature on the old letter for several minutes before creating an exact replica on her sheet.

There. And now the finishing touch...

"I knew this would come in handy, one day." Zorah pulled out the family seal and melted a bit of wax above the candle. As she waited, her gaze lost its artistic intensity and shifted into a soft, sorrowful stare. She wondered, as she did every day, what had happened to her family after she'd left. Where was Autumn? Would she see her again? Would her father ever ask any of them to come home? Was he still alive? Was he deeper in trouble than he had been before? What had he done to save himself after they'd gone?

He had not been the kind of father she'd wished, yet the familial bond was still there. After all the years of watching him falter as he pursued a way out from debt and political intrigue with any means necessary, he was still her bloodline. And now she was using his name to pursue justice, albeit in a rather underhanded way. Would he have appreciated the irony? She doubted it.

After the wax had melted, Zorah folded up the parchment and poured the quickly drying wax onto the closure. After stamping it with the impressive family crest of a shield covered in shooting stars, she slumped and gazed at her handiwork.

"I wonder if Mother ever knew how I used all those art lessons she paid for..."

She cast the letter onto the table and leaned forward to blow out the candle.