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Goya cursed as he tumbled into the void, struggling with all his might against the hands that grasped his wrists. Then the darkness spat them all out again, and Goya landed hard on something that squirmed.

“Ow,” it said.

In a flash, Goya was on his feet again. Ignoring the boy he’d nearly crushed, he looked around to see the kid from earlier standing with the woman who’d attacked him.

“What was that?” he demanded. He found that he was breathing hard, as if he’d just run a race.

The woman gazed at him with cool grey eyes, measuring, taking stock.

“Ow,” the boy repeated, louder.

Goya held himself very still for a moment before turning and smiling wryly at the kid he’d fallen on top of. The kid and the magician were in the process of very slowly untangling themselves.

“My apologies,” he told them, sheathing his knives.

“Can’t say I think it was your fault,” a dry voice came from beside him. The woman had joined him, along with the boy, who eyed him with mistrust. She didn’t look at him, but her eyes held more amusement than anger. In her hand, she held a short staff with curved blades at either end. “Kianda,” she added, as if in explanation.

“Goya,” he returned, nodding. Something in the way this woman carried herself was familiar to him; he’d seen in every hunter worth his salt. He rather thought he could come to respect her.

“I take it that didn’t turn out quite the way you wanted it to?” Kianda directed her question at the gentleman magician, who was just getting to his feet. Not really expecting an immediate answer, she glanced down at the child. He’d taken a liking to her, it seemed, so she favored him with a slight smile.

@ragnarok, @hannahrenner, @this-is-not-an-alien, @kimlikesart