August

The flames spread across the carpet faster than I would have thought possible. I found myself stepping lazily onto the wooden floor moments before the fire devoured where I had been standing. I was too tired for this--couldn’t someone have waited until sunrise to try and burn us alive?

People shrieked and groaned as they rolled out of their cots and stared blankly at the burning carpet before standing and walking out of the large tent that we had spent hours making. Two missed meals and three sprained ankles--practicing acrobatic performance whilst digging holes and gathering poles and finding cloths was not the safest route towards shelter--was all laid to waste.

I swung my bag onto my shoulder and rolled up my mat, murmuring profanities under my breath as both chaos and sleepiness collided around me. My feet dragged as I walked towards the exit, turning back to take one last glance at the burning wood and fabric. A person seemed to be sitting in the corner as the fire neared, reading a book, back turned to the approaching danger.

Rest in peace, my friend.

The air outside tasted so much better. It wasn’t sweaty and filled with ink from all of those poor lads who had left behind happy families to join the guild. The graceful rivers and forests of Onlin were fading as we traveled to Cath, where we were to perform.

“August.”

January laid a finger on my shoulder, his yellow eyes that matched his hair so flawlessly weary. He was the tallest in the guild, being about thirteen inches above myself--who was, most bluntly, the shortest--and always seemed to tower over me, just another symbol of his leadership towards us all.

“Yes?”

He let his bag drop off of his shoulder as he turned away from me to watch the flames. I could barely hear him as he spoke with that light, easy voice of his. “Bessa didn’t make it, did she?”

I shook my head. “No.”

He shuddered. “I’m sorry, January,” I continued softly.

He met my gaze gently, lips smiling in hazy remembrance. “It’s a pity. She was so talented, wasn’t she?” I frowned and siddled solemnly away, leaving my friend to collect his thoughts. Bessa never had been the most optimistic witch.

I found November seated by a tree, chewing on her lip, rolling her purple hair around her finger and watching the flames with her purple eyes. I took a seat at her side, silently, laying my bag at my side.

There was a pause as the crackling of wood and grass cascaded through the air around us.

“It’s a shame we don’t have marshmallows,” I said.

“Yes.”

“But, of course, we would need sticks for that, which would probably catch fire.”

“Ah.”

“I always did like my marshmallows burnt, anyways.”

“Hmm.”

“You know, Bessa’s still in there.”

“Oh.”

I frowned. “Won’t it be nice to find her charred bones tomorrow?”

“Mm.”

We sat in silence for a few more moments as I contemplated some way to crack her solid demeanor. She always had been harsh. Like ice. That was how which month she would be named after was decided. As when we had found her, a wild looking girl with brown hair and blue eyes, fighting in the strets with fists bloodied and clothes torn. Even when Bessa used her magic to change the hair and eyes, so that November would fit into the guild’s formation, she refused to cry out. November was tall and it was easy for her to remain thin and pale, as the guild required.

“I suppose we’ll be taking shelter somewhere until we find a new witch?”

I nodded my agreement, thankful to her speaking more than one word. “Of course.”

“Most likely Frining. We could gather more food and cloth there. Never been to the capital before.”

“Nor have I.”

“August?”

“Yes?”

“There are two men in hoods behind you.”