An old aerian man, hands wrinkled but still strong, grabs the boy by the collar. The boy is older now, and more than a year of hard experience has written itself on his face, but he is still small and thin. His starved body is clothed in little more than rags, and his fair skin is marked with dark bruises. He struggles to break free, but the man’s grip is strong. The boy reaches for his dagger. He has not killed since that first time, but he would not hesitate to take a life to save his own, and he knows that another trip to the jails of Aerievale might well result in his execution. The jailers know him, and they know also that they cannot keep him locked in their cells. They have little sympathy for such as he, and execution is easier and cheaper than getting better locks.

Before he can even get his hand on the knife, the old man has taken it from his belt. The man’s movement is fast, and the boy is startled. This man isn’t the easy mark that he seems.

“Here now, lad,” says the man’s surprisingly gentle voice. “There’s no need for violence. I’ll not let you take my purse, but I’ll not be turning you over to the constables either. I’ve yet to seen a time in prison cure a boy of thieving. Now,” continues the voice, “I’ll let you go, and you can run off to wherever it is you live, but if you’ll give me a bit of trust and stay, I’ll be more than happy to give you a square meal. I don’t like to see a lad like yourself looking so scrawny. You look like you haven’t had a good meal in years.” The man releases his grip on the boy’s collar, and the boy turns to run, but something holds him back.

He looks at the old man suspiciously and says, “Why would you offer to feed me after I tried to rob you?”

“Well lad, maybe it makes me a fool, but I like to think there’s good in everyone, and I do what I can to help the goodness I find. That there’s good in you I don’t doubt, and if you had a few square meals you might not have to resort to robbing helpless old men.”

The old man smiles at his own little joke, and the boy finds himself smiling back. This old man may be a little bit crazy, but a good meal isn’t something to be passed up, and somehow the boy knows the old man is being honest. He nods cautiously and says, “I’d like a good meal.” Then he adds, “But don’t think I owe you anything because of it! I make my own way.”

“And that’s as it should be,” says the man. “You can’t depend on anybody else to do things for you, lad. But there’s no harm in taking help when it’s offered, and no dishonor in it either. Come along then,” he adds, and the boy obediently follows him down the street.

Aidan shook the memories off and stepped forward to knock on the brightly painted green door with its knob in the middle. The windows glowed with light, so he knew that somebody was home. Sure enough a moment later the door swung open, spilling golden light out into the street. Aidan squinted at the brightness, but it was only a moment before his sensitive eyes adjusted enough to see the man who stood there. The aerian in the doorway looked older than he had last time Aidan had seen him, but he was still in good health. His shoulders were perhaps a bit more stooped, his skin more deeply lined, his wings a little bit moth-eaten, and his hair was definitely thinner, but there was no question that it was Thomas.

Thomas leaned forward, peering at Aidan with an expression of surprise and disbelief. His eyes were wide as he said softly, “Aidan? Aidan, is that really you?”

Aidan grinned. “Yes, it’s really me. I got your letter and came right away.”

“Letter?” Thomas looked puzzled. “What letter?”

Aidan pulled the folded square of white paper out of his pocket and handed it over, puzzled by his friend’s surprise. Was he old enough that he was forgetting things? Thomas took the letter and opened it, his eyes scanning over the words.

“Aidan lad, I’m very glad you came, but I didn’t write this. It isn’t even anything like my handwriting.”

Aidan blinked in surprise. The uneasy something surged up in his gut. What was going on? “If you didn’t write it, who did?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” said Thomas. Then he collected himself and added, “But let’s not discuss it standing on the street, come in, come in, I’ll make a cup of hot chocolate for you like you always used to like.”

Aidan stepped into the little house, finding it as cozy as ever. Things haven’t changed here, he thought, but I’ve changed. He felt suddenly awkward. How was he going to tell Thomas everything that had happened to him? “Thomas,” he called out as the old man headed for the kitchen, “I don’t drink hot chocolate anymore, so don’t bother making a cup for me.”

Thomas turned around. “You don’t? Why ever not?”

Aidan sighed. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you the whole thing if you want, though I’m afraid parts of it aren’t very pleasant.”

Thomas gave Aidan a curious look, no doubt wondering what kind of unpleasant tale could result in his young friend forsaking his favorite drink, but he didn’t ask to hear the story, he just came back into the front room and seated himself in his favorite chair. Aidan sprawled on the couch where he always used to sit, suddenly feeling tired.

“Well since we’re skipping the chocolate, let’s talk. I haven’t seen you in so long, I thought you were dead! It warms my heart to know you’re still alive, and doing very well from the looks of you.” Thomas grinned. His grin faded a bit as he surveyed Aidan from head to toe, but then he shrugged as if dismissing whatever thought had occurred to him. “You’re still too scrawny, but at least you’re not half-starved anymore. But you must tell me all about what’s happened to you. I think we’ve got a lot of catching up to do! Though things haven’t changed here any,” he added wryly.

Indeed they haven’t, thought Aidan. He was suddenly overwhelmed by all the memories. He’d had so many conversations here. They’d talked of everything, the older man imparting his hard-won wisdom to the younger, who often ignored it, but never forgot it. From that very first day when Thomas had lured him in with the promise of a good dinner he’d begun learning a different kind of lesson than the ones he learned on the street.