It took three more days for the project to be completed. I was glad to be staying and helping out. The air of excitement about the entire site was unmistakable. I was also learning a lot about crafting, or about its basic principles anyway, as Jossander, Ashlar, and Jarel had been throughout the time they'd been there. The four crafters didn't mind teaching me, as long as it didn't interrupt their work. Although I wasn't that good at it, crafting seemed a much more useful skill than empathy. It was no wonder that "Crafter" was generally considered the most prestigious title.

Kivalen returned twice, and I also met both Sturge and Arlen once. Twice we had to pack everything up and hide as more small boats passed, on spying missions of their own, no doubt. It annoyed the four crafters to no end to have to keep starting tasks over, and I felt ineffective letting Barons pass us freely. I even suggested following one boat down the river, an idea I realized too late I should have kept to myself as it was undoable and only served to heighten Midrot's suspicions about me. We couldn't reveal ourselves to the Barons in these boats or we'd lose the ships. We couldn't afford to jeopardize the project now.

Everyone on the team was very friendly; they didn't act as if they suspected me of being a spy. I think even Midrot came to trust me (my subtle influence didn't hurt), but just the same, the mission could not be risked. Which was fine with me since I was happy to stay and work with the team. I learned a lot about all of them over those three days, partly due to my pathic training but partly just because of my natural understanding of people. I learned, for example, that Midrot's suspicions stemmed from experience, of which he'd had plenty, being the oldest missioneer in the group. He harbored a distinct dislike for Ashlar, the group's youngest member, who never took anything seriously. Ashlar along with Jarel (though the swimmer was more circumspect about it) didn't care for Midrot much either, mainly due to the way he ordered them around at whatever odd errands needed doing. I noticed Jossander was never taken advantage of, though he was more than willing, and at first, neither was I. Once we'd become familiar, Midrot, Chalia, and Bo (though the married couple didn't seem to abuse their authority quite so much) were treating me like a servant as well. I tried not to seethe; Midrot was nowhere near as hard to deal with as Baria had been. Besides, Kiv was treated no better, and never complained. He was probably used to it. Runners, unfortunately, were often treated as less than missioneers, and in some cases less than people, which was ironic because their skill was often crucial � doubly so in this mission. Rolan, though as a crafter he had authority in this project, was still too young to feel it much. He'd only just received his crafter's badge, and this was his first mission. A natural pacifist anyway, he treated everyone with respect. And Jossander was as tiresomely fair and selfless as could be asked of any leader, important qualities considering he was the only one there who actually outranked anyone else. It didn't hurt that Ashlar and Kiv had been on his team for several missions before this one. At first I was surprised that Midrot, Bo, and Chalia all so readily accepted a man younger and less skilled than themselves as Captain over them. But Joss, much like Captain Shay, had a presence about him that commanded without forcing, led without pushing. He was the reason a group of people so different worked together as efficiently as if they'd had months of practice, and the project could not but succeed. All this I was able to infer without being told, and for the first time I began to appreciate the true power of empathy.

That third day all four crafters as well as Jarel got wet to set up the goring apparatus in the pit they'd dug in the opposite bank. They finished just as the sun was setting. We all cheered as we helped them out of the river, back onto our side.

"I believe it's time to celebrate!" a sopping wet Bo shouted with more vivacity in his voice than I'd heard to that point. He dashed toward the pit, snatching up his discarded shirt and using it to towel himself off as he ran. Then he tossed it aside as he jogged down the stairway. We all laughed at his antics, and followed him into the pit.

With a flourish, Bo produced a jug of blackwine from a thermos he'd been filling with river water every day to keep it cool. Apparently the group had been looking forward to this day for quite some time. Chalia passed out cups, and everyone arranged themselves in the circle that was traditional in the pit. With all the equipment set up correctly instead of cluttered around the floor, there was substantially more room.

I politely refused a glass of blackwine, though the amount being poured was considerably less than what I'd been forced to drink during the ritual. But I wouldn't be able to drink it without conjuring up unpleasant memories of Pathic Training, and I didn't want anything to spoil that night. I offered to climb the tree and be lookout so the others could take their celebration out of the pit. Of course, Mirdrot immediately protested, drawing groans from everyone.

"Oh, come on now, Bryt. Just because you're not drinking is no reason to forego the party," Jossander said, diplomatically putting an end to the question.

"Are you sure you don't want any?" Bo asked me as he poured water into my cup so I could toast with the rest of them.

"Yeah. I've had kind of a bad experience with blackwine, part of a tradition at Pathic Training..." I frowned for having mentioned the Training center. "Besides, somebody's got to keep things under control," I added more briskly.

'"We're not going to drink that much," Jossander said, almost guiltily.

"Oh, go ahead!" I laughed, teasing him. "Even a Captain needs to have some fun once in a while."

"This whole mission's been fun," he said seriously, then raised his cup. "To all you guys. Great teammates."

"And to the mission," Bo added. "And all the ships we're about to sink!"

At that, everyone clinked glasses (well, touched cups) and drank. I found myself wondering how I ever came to be a part of this group, extremely grateful for whatever twist of fate had led me here at this time.

"And finished a whole day ahead of schedule," Jossander sighed happily. "Despite all our minor setbacks."

"Congratulations, Joss," Midrot grinned.

"Hah! It's you four who deserve all the credit."

"Well, we couldn't have done it without Ash and Jarel to order around," Chalia put in. "Even Brytani helped."

"And don't forget the runners," Jarel added.

"I guess we all had our roles to play," Joss admitted. "Although sometimes I've felt like a third arm in this."

"What's that mean?" Rolan asked.

"You know, like I'm just in the way, like I have no real purpose."

A stern denial of that went up, and Bo remarked, "That's a bad analogy, then. A third arm would be very useful."

Everyone laughed and Jossander corrected himself, �Fine. A sixth toe, an extra nose. Take your pick."

"You know what I think I could be?" Midrot commented. "A third eye in the middle of someone's forehead."

Everyone just stared at him. "How under the sun did you come up with that one?" Ashlar asked.

"Well," Midrot smiled pointedly, "No one in their right mind actually wants me around, but I do help you to see things more clearly."

Ashlar and Jarel grinned ruefully at each other, and Jossander smiled and said, "That's a good one." His face lit up. "Let's � " he was met by mock groans from all " � all go around. Chalia?" Chalia was sitting to his left.

"Let me think," Chalia said, taking another sip of wine. "Well, this has never really been my forte, but...I've often looked at walls we've put up and compared myself to a joiner plank."

The other three crafters began roaring immediately, while the rest of us just exchanged smiles and shrugged blankly.

"You see," Chalia tried to explain, "when we cut planks from trees, especially out here missioneering, we end up with boards of different lengths. Instead of cutting them to the length of the shortest and wasting all that wood, we cut them to an average length and use the scraps to join the smallest to the post. In the finished wall, you can see a few tiny scraps among the huge planks. They're just as important, but about a tenth the size."

By this point everyone understood the joke, so Chalia turned to her husband and gave him a playful shove. "And what would you be?"

"To use another crafterly example," Bo began to the groans of the non-crafters, "I think I'd be a forge fire. I only stop burning when someone throws water over me or I run out of fuel!"

Chalia fervently agreed with this description of her husband, and everyone else murmured in assent as well. Bo did have an amazing work ethic. He deserved to be proud.

"Let's hear from the last crafter," Bo suggested.

Rolan quickly cleared his throat. "I'd be a sponge," he said without pausing to think at all. "I've spent the past four years learning to craft, absorbing all the information I could, and by the way, feeling like a total dunce most of the time. And now, I'm actually teaching you guys. The knowledge is getting squeezed out of me. I'm finally giving back, and I'm finally one of the smart ones, you know?" he rejoiced. I thought that was a pretty good one.

"No," Ashlar decided. "Bad example. You don't get dumber when you get squeezed out." Jarel dutifully punched him in the arm.

Ashlar turned to the swimmer. "Okay, you go then."

"Oh, not me," Jarel begged, holding his hands up. "I'm awful at this stuff."

"You think you can get off that easily?" Jossander grinned, shaking his head.

"Fine," Jarel grumbled. "I'd be a fish because I like to swim. Next!"

Ashlar gave Jarel a friendly punch for that one, then announced immediately and proudly, "A puffan!"

"Oh? Why's that?" someone asked.

Ashlar grinned at Midrot with pure impudence. "Because I never take anything seriously!"

Everyone, even Midrot, had to laugh for the truth in that. The game continued on a while longer, with several of them taking more than one turn. Suprisingly it was Midrot and Ashlar who seemed to enjoy it the most, though Joss was the one who often used metaphors when speaking. Everyone would smile and nod deeply whenever Midrot came up with another clever and amazingly fitting analogy, and laugh when Ashlar countered with some outrageous comparison (his examples got crazier and crazier the more he had to drink). There was a little bit of: "You know, I think you could be a..." and "Oh yeah? Well, you're a..." but for the most part they were just having fun.

Then Rolan broke in, "Hey, what about Brytani? We haven't heard from you at all, yet, Bryt."

"Hey, yeah!" someone seconded, and I was forced onto the spot.

I'd been thinking about what answer I would give should I be forced to participate in the game. "I think," I slowly began, "I'd be an arrow marked with a red feather."

Jossander, apparently the only other archer in the group, looked up sharply. "You don't put red feathers on arrows. When they're in the quiver it gives the enemy an easy target."

"I know," I replied. "But among a group of normal arrows that's how I'd feel. Like I stand out, instead of blending in."

"The stupid uniform," Midrot grunted.

"Among other things," I smiled amiably. "But I'm not really a part of this team, my actual team sent me away, I wasn't very good at empathy, and at Mission Training, well, I graduated very young."

"So sometimes you're above average and sometimes below, but never right in the middle," Bo summarized.

"You know, Brytani," Midrot admonished, "lots of people spend their lives trying to be anything but average. You may be the first person I've heard complain about being special."

"So that's strange, too." Jarel remarked. Midrot shot him an annoyed glance.

"I mean it, Bryt," the crafter continued. "Do you really not enjoy standing out?"

I shrugged. "It has benefits and drawbacks," I said honestly, not really admitting to anything.

"And an overall greater chance to change the world," Jossander broke in unexpectedly, before Midrot could respond.

Midrot frowned, obviously wondering just how drunk his Captain was. "What, Joss?"

"I am not drunk, Mid," the Captain answered. "I'm saying that if you only follow the crowd you never change what goes on around you. If you don't stand out you have no effect at all. I mean, look at Rolan. No one ever listens to him." I stifled a laugh. He was drunk. Luckily so was Rolan, and he only nodded thoughtfully, oblivious to the fact that he'd just been insulted.

"To make a difference you have to be willing to be different," Joss finished.

"There's our genius Captain," Ashlar mumbled from the corner. Jarel hit him again.

"I'm right," Joss informed us. "So, Bryt, don't ever be ashamed of being different. It's the best thing that can happen to you."

"Okay," I nodded, amusedly wondering if the man had such profound thoughts when he was sober.

"There's one thing you should ask yourself, though," he continued.

"What?"

"Ever wonder if you were marked for a reason?"

I stared at him for a second, and then shook my head and laughed. "Of course not. I don't believe in that stuff!"

"Oh, no?" Joss raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's for you to figure out on your own." He abruptly leaned back. "Well, I'm out. Everyone, good work and good night." He pushed himself back from the circle and seemed to immediately fall asleep, the first one down. Midrot and Bo, who seemed able to drink the jug dry, began making bets as to who would fall next.

"That would be me," Chalia told them, half rolling over to face her husband. "I can't drink till the sun comes up like you big craftmen."

"Okay." Bo said, taking his wife in his arms and kissing her forehead. "You go to sleep now, my little joiner plank."

"I don't believe you, man; you're drunken anyway!" Midrot snorted, tolerantly teasing his fellow crafter. I had to smile, though. I thought Bo and Chalia were the sweetest couple I'd ever seen.

"Not drunken," Bo corrected him. "Besotted, yes, but not drunk. Aye, I'm certainly guilty of that." He affectionately rumpled his wife's short, blond hair.

"The pair of you," Midrot might affect cynicism, but I could tell he was trying not to smile.

"We didn't do it!" Ashlar burst out, awakening at the complaint normally directed against himself and Jarel. "It's not my fault! I've been up in the tree all day! What...uh..."

Jarel, still at least partially sober, laughed and rolled his eyes. "Ash, why don't we go outside now and throw up?"

"Okay," Ashlar meekly agreed, and managed to stay on his feet as his friend pulled him up the crate stairway.

"So," Midrot said conversationally, once only four of us remained awake in the room, "how long do you give before old Rolan passes out, too?" he elbowed the young crafter in the side.

This action, unfortunately, caused Rolan to tip over sideways right where he was sitting. He was asleep the second he hit the ground.

The three of us stared for about a half a second, then burst out laughing. I hoped this type of thing had never happened to me during the blackwine ritual.

"You know," Bo managed to say, still shaking with mirth, "I believe...this calls...for a toast."

"Oh, and I believe you're right!" Midrot roared, holding out his cup as Bo reached for the jug and began to pour the wine.