Crucius’ smile was soft, out of place on his lips. Something wistful veiled his gaze. Gently he said: “Please be safe.”
Uthyr sobered. “I will. You too.”
“I came by to give you this,” Crucius said, breaking eye contact and handing off a small drawstring bag made of emerald green velvet. “If you ever need passage, if anyone blocks your path forward and you can't sway them to move, use this. I promise they won‘t fail to get out of your way.”
“What is it?” Uthyr asked. Before he could open the bag, Crucius pressed it deeper into his palm, his other hand cupping the bottom of Uthyr's.
“It comes with a price,” Crucius said, his voice so hard, it could mortar gravel. “Do not take it out until you have use of it. Don’t use it unless you absolutely must. I will answer no questions about it. I know it’s much to ask, but please trust me.”
“I—” Uthyr didn’t know what to say. “I trust you.”
Crucius nodded, his jaw working. “They won’t answer to me, but I’ll pray to the gods to keep you safe. Never lose sight of your virtues. Never forget who you serve. Stand strong.
“And farewell,” Crucius added at the end. He leaned forward, pressed a kiss upon Uthyr’s brow, then released his hands and left the hut without turning back. Uthyr stood stunned. The skin where Crucius’ lips had touched felt colder for the loss.
“Farewell,” Uthyr whispered in his friend’s wake, once he’d recalled how to breathe. The bag in his hands was heavy, heavier than he thought it ought to be. His hut was empty. Would be emptier still when he left. A lump formed in his throat.
Stand strong.
It all felt bigger than it should have. He was going to be gone less than a fortnight. The rain from the last two days wouldn’t have even dried enough to worry about watering his garden until he returned. He shook his head.
Maybe he’d make a wand before he left. Just in case.
He hoped it would see no use. In less than a fortnight, he might still be able to reattach it to the tree. In less than a fortnight, he’d be back at his hearth, making potions for hay fever to bring to market.
Tending his carrot sprouts.
Watching the pollywogs.
And missing Crucius desperately.