The sun was setting by the time Aidan reached city. The spires of Aerievale’s high towers caught the last of the sun, as did the snow-topped peak that towered over the high valley that cupped the city. Aidan didn’t head for the sparkle of the sun on white marble, however. His destination lay on the lower slopes. The city spilled in a disorganized jumble down the mountain. Up near the top were palaces and mansions, and below them the more modest dwellings of the middle class, but the lower slopes were covered in a warren of falling-down houses, dilapidated shops, ugly warehouses and who knows what else that made up the poorer quarter, and it was there that Aidan’s friend Thomas lived.

He was not the only one in the sky that evening. Though many other races lived there, Aerievale was the homeland of the aerian people, and there were still a few of them out at that late hour, most no doubt heading for their homes, or else out for a little entertainment on a fine, clear evening.

Aidan’s eyes scanned the ground below. Here over the poor quarter there were fewer people airborne and more making their way below on two feet. Many of Aerievale’s non-aerians were among the poor. Aidan found old reflexes taking over, and he kept a wary eye on the few that shared the airspace over the poor quarter with him. Life down there was hard, and many of those who lived there became hardened in response. He had seen it happening to himself. Not all of the inhabitants of this area were dangerous, but it was best to be careful. The light faded further, sliding up the mountain above until the last trace of sun vanished. Thankfully, Aidan’s night-sensitive eyes could see through the gathering twilight well enough to guide him. He found many landmarks had changed, but enough remained for him to find his way to a certain familiar-looking roof. When he landed in the street in front of the tiny cottage he smiled, knowing he was at the right place. The house looked out of place on the little street, for where all of its neighbors were run-down and falling apart, this one was in perfect repair, freshly painted and with flowers growing in the tiny yard in front.

He stood there in front of it, remembering.

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,” he continues, “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.