Winter still holds its grip on Urt, though warmer weather is coming. The trees are bare, yet filled with the promise f life. She left the city several days ago, after her meeting with the Guild Mistress, so that she could clear her head.

*Member of a guild,* she thinks. *Never in this lifetime did I expect that.* But here she is, beholden to, and having to trust in, strangers. She hated it. It was a yoke around her shoulders keeping her weighed down. Well she knew how to throw off a yoke. Or, rather, who could throw it off for her.

She needed her sister.

Yescerys went deep into the forest, into the dark and shadowed, where the evergreens stood watch. She knew that Sa'anvi could be found there. She preferred the shadows. They both did. Something dark crawled in the nature of both women. Though they be but half of one to the other, they were all each of them had.

"Sa'anvi," she called. "Are you about?"

The forest stood silent, its stillness broken only by the whisper of wind through evergreens. The last grip of winter lingered, clinging to the earth in patches of frost, though the promise of life lurked beneath, waiting.

When Yescerys called, the name was not carried far. It did not need to be.

A shimmer rippled through the frozen surface of a nearby pool of water, a blackened reflection distorting, bending, spilling over itself like ink poured onto glass. The shadows in the water deepened, thickening into something more than mere reflection. And then, they moved.

The darkness spilled over the edge, stretching, coiling, unraveling into a shape half-there, half-not—a figure caught between worlds, between what is and what might be. The shadow rose, folding into itself, before at last taking form.

Sa’anvi stepped forward.

Her dark silks clung to her like woven night, pooling at her feet before shifting, as though reluctant to let her go. The thorned markings upon her skin flashed faintly beneath the pale light, the only evidence of motion beneath the stillness of her stance. Ivy-green eyes flickered, catching Yescerys in their gaze, reading, measuring. For a moment, she said nothing. Then, the faintest curl of her lips—not quite a smile, but something close.

"You call, and I answer," Sa’anvi murmured, voice smooth, the weight of shadows lingering in her words. Her head tilted slightly, as though amused. "A sister in need. That, I cannot ignore."

She stepped forward fully, the last traces of shadow sinking into her skin, disappearing as though they had never been.

Yescerys walks over to where her sister had melted from the shadows. Her own leathers, dark and supple from use, making no noise. Light steps come as natural to her as breathing. Cowled and covered, she is almost as invisible as the woman before her, though considerably more substantial.

"Always so formal, Sister. I would that you relax yourself with me when I come alone." She sighs. "That, I fear, however, is not your nature. So I take you as you are."

She leans against a tree. "I find myself in need of your wisdom, and your company. The local guild has laid claim to my services as they see fit. The guild master is intimidating, even for me, though I did get a barb to her at least once. I like it not, seeing as I work for hire. They will take their cut, but they promise safety should my work prove sloppy, not that I expect it to. I seek your guidance as to finding my way free of their clutches, as I am actively working prospects elsewhere that are potentially both more lucrative and more entertaining."

Sa’anvi did not move as Yescerys approached, nor did she shrink from her presence. Sister in shadow, sister in blood. The only soul in the world who truly understood what it meant to be both seen and unseen. At Yescerys' words, Sa’anvi let out a quiet breath—was it amusement? Understanding? A whisper of a laugh that barely touched the air before it was gone.

“Formal? Perhaps.” Her ivy-green gaze drifted to the skeletal branches above, bare yet waiting for the season to turn. “Or perhaps simply prepared.” She turned her full attention to Yescerys then, taking in the careful pois as if unburdening herself would lighten her load.

Sa’anvi stepped closer, slow, deliberate. The thorned markings along her arms shifted, tightening slightly, as if echoing the weight of the conversation. "This guild is not the first to claim something they believe is theirs by right.”

Her head tilted, considering. “Sister—do you wish to burn the bridge, or merely loosen the chains? For now it seems, they wish to see if you play nice with others.”

Because that, after all, was the true question. Escape was easy. Disappearing was easy. But if Yescerys wanted to turn the game upon those who played it, that was another matter entirely.

"Never burn bridges," she replies lightly. "Ashes leave evidence. Besides, I need to play somewhat nicely if I wish to remain here. But you know as well as I, man's law is not nature's, even if it is a woman laying it down. This one, she does not ask. She assumes. And assumptions kill."

She frowns slightly at the implication she has just spoken aloud. "I must be careful. Even the wood has ears in this place. Truth? She tests my nerve. I put nothing past the lady. I would not cross her, though slipping her bonds? Nothing would please me more."

Sa’anvi's slow, calculated motions, even when she doesn't move, is entrancing to watch. She can forget herself, if she's not careful. But that's what Sa'anvi does best, and Yescerys knows it well. She has counted on her sister's counsel, and her potions, more often than not. Wisdom came off the Witch like breathing. Yescerys needed it now. She was not known to play nice with others.

"You are right, however. Building a reputation when it can benefit all will open doors that may yet be unseen. My focus is narrow, while yours grand. What, then, do you see that you are willing to share?"

"Assumptions do kill," Sa’anvi murmured, tilting her head slightly. "And so does impatience."

She moved then—not toward her sister, not away, but in a slow, thoughtful arc, fingers trailing just above the brittle remains of winter’s grip. Not quite touching, yet stirring something unseen.

“This woman tests you. That is clear.” Her voice was smooth, even, but there was an edge beneath it—something thoughtful, something turning over possibilities as she spoke them into the world. "But the answer is not in slipping bonds. It is in making them seem meaningless."

She turned back to Yescerys, ivy-green eyes reflecting the faint light between branches.

"You wish to remain here. That means you do not simply disappear. That means you do not fight her openly. You let her think you are useful, but never necessary. Dependable, but not relied upon. Capable, but not irreplaceable." A pause. A slow exhale. "She will never let go of what she believes she owns. But she will not chase what is beneath her interest."

A lesson as old as survival itself.

Sa’anvi stepped closer, close enough that the faint scent of spiced honey still clung to her breath.

"You are already working other prospects," she continued, softer now, though no less deliberate. "Turn them into opportunities she does not see. Make them work in your favor, but never in a way that can be traced."

A flicker of amusement ghosted through her features, something knowing. "After all, Sister, you never did like playing nice."

"As always, your wisdom is true, though I must admit that the thought of it galls me. Failure does not bring me to my passion. But I take your point and heed."

She stalks the clearing, clearly agitated by the truth of Sa'anvi's words. She rolls her shoulders, bounces on her feet, swings her arms. For all her sister is stillness, so, in this moment, is Yescerys motion.

Suddenly, she stops and bows to her sister. "I thank you, wise one. What can I do to repay you?" This is their ritual, their way. Yescerys may chide her sister on formality, but, in truth, it is Yescerys who abides to ritual as well.

(( More later ))