It had been a very long day.

Only a few days had passed since the attacks on the temple, and there was no shortage of demands from the public that the Times investigate the attack. Charumati herself had approached her editor, holding out letter upon letter begging 'Rohana' for her advice in the wake of tragedy.

What do you want me to do, Charu? her editor had asked softly, his head in his hands as he sat behind his desk. The aging journalist rubbed his temples and shrugged feebly. Charumati knew that the man was also a nonbender, though not affiliated with the Equalists and had no knowledge of her true purpose at the paper. We're barely allowed to publish what little we are, and the 'security' hasn't let up. The last thing we need is for the RCPD or the Council to take over the Times in order to make sure their gag order is enforced even more strongly.

She had to admit that he had a point. If the RCPD or the Council stepped in, there would likely be a less honest journalism than the precious little the current staff were managing now.

So instead of publishing letters, she made a general statement to the public, encouraging them to be vigilant but kind to their fellows. It was a carefully crafted column, avoiding all explicit mentions of blame, or the Galgori Six behind flowery words. It passed her editor's muster and went to print for the afternoon edition. She smiled in grim satisfaction when she saw a copy on her way to the bunker to meet Yuji, hearing people gathered at the news stand taking heart in her words.

Yuji's training was also going well. A diamond in the rough, she had thought when they first met, and it was true. He wasn't a prodigy by any means, but he was a hard worker and showed an aptitude for martial arts. She was confident that she could begin teaching him the basics of chi blocking within the next few weeks.

After training, Charu sent Yuji home alone and stayed behind at the Temple, disappearing into the upper offices with a Monk at her side. She was in there for quite some time, long after the lamps on the street had flared to life. She left looking irritated, but determined.

Feeling too tired to walk home, she summoned a cab; to her surprise, Nirav was sitting outside the apartment, waiting patiently for her return.

"Nirav!" She stepped out of the cab and paid the driver quickly. "Why didn't you let yourself in? Did you lose your key?" She furrowed her brow, trying to remember if the younger man had ever mentioned his tribe's traditions about entering another person's home. She couldn't remember.

"Ah well, never mind. I'm here now, so come on." She unlocked the door and stepped inside, shutting it tightly behind her adopted nephew. "How was your hunt?" she queried, noting that he had returned with a decent amount of meat. She made her way to the kitchen immediately, pulling out containers and knives.

An old copy of the Times lay on the kitchen table, its headline blaring out the attack. She hadn't been able to bring herself to throw it out

Charumati came, as he knew she would. This was her place, this was her time. Usually. Nirav stood as she approached, easing the straps of the heavy pack he wore. She asked questions, then dismissed them, opening the door and allowing him entry before closing the way behind him.

She bustled ahead, taking note of his burden and producing the means to store the bounty he had brought. He followed, removing his backpack and setting it down on a nearby chair. Nirav opened it and began removing large parcels: meat wrapped in large leaves. Most of it was smoked. Keeping meat was much easier back home. There the temperature was always low. Smoking the meat did the rest. Here it was not so cold. He smoked the meat a lot before others had introduced him to salt. Now he did both.

"I am... arriving without word," Nirav said while passing Charumati the meat. "You do not enter home without word, even when you are... welcomed. Many... accidents happen this way."

He paused in unloading his bag for a moment, plucking at one of the many threads that held the numerous talismans and wards around his neck. He pulled at a red thread until it came into sight. At the end was the key Charumati had given him.

"Even with key. Also, it is not... polite," the young hunter finished, pulling out the final package of meat and allowing the key to fall back onto his bare chest, where it soon became lost within the carvings and wood, stone, and bone.

"I take some to... bootcher you took me to. He... know my face. And your face. He gave me your paper... Yuans." Nirav nearly spat the word as he removed the crumbled notes from one of his pockets and dropped them on the table. "Trading life for paper... So it is. Should not be."

Nirav turned his dark gaze onto his host. She looked tired. So he tried a smile. It was all teeth and it made his face ache.

"You are well? You look... sleep. Err... you look tired."

On this, they could agree. There was something inherently callous about the way life was monetised when it came to food; on the other hand, it was a system similar to bartering, though the paper's value was only subjective and relative to the overall wealth of the originating source. Still, Charu didn't figure that the concept of capitalism as well as its downfalls would be easy to explain even with a full command of the common tongue, so she simply nodded and accepted the crumpled yuans. She had taken to placing the proceeds of Nirav's earned money into a small savings jar, to bestow upon him should he ever decide to find his own place or want something from the City. Until then, she had more than enough for herself and to share.

As she put away the proffered meat into containers, Charumati returned Nirav's smile with one of her own. "I am well," she confirmed, "but I am also tired. Much has happened while you were away."

She gestured to the newspaper, a silent invitation for him to read it. "I have also met a young man who I am helping train, like you. You may see him from time to time. His name is Yuji. He's about this tall — " she gestured " — with brown hair, pale skin, and brown eyes."

Nirav moved towards the paper Charumati had indicated, nodding as his host spoke of another student she had picked up. This was good. Charumati was a good teacher, had much wisdom to impart. It was always good to pass that down to those younger. It was also good she had mentioned this person to him; if the hunter had seen some stranger waiting outside of her home, he may have come to different, more sinister conclusions as to the new person's intentions.

He sat on the edge of a nearby seat, pulling the paper of news towards him. One of Nirav's long fingers traced the words on it slowly, his lips moving as he silently and painstakingly attempted to read the words. He was improving, this was clear. Not a month ago the words would have seemed to be nothing but squiggles. But now, despite having trouble with a good number of the longer and more complicated ones, he was able to read the whole thing and get the general feel of what was being imparted.

One side said one thing. The other side said something else. Who spoke false, who spoke truth, who spoke anything at all. The only thing undisputed was that many had been hurt. Who had hurt them, who had helped and who had not; everything else was conflicted in the ink.

"Many words fighting... err, in... conflict," Nirav said after finally reaching the bottom of the story. "Who did what, who did not help, and no why. Many finger pointed. Many words, saying nothing. Many nothings being said, hm?"

Despite the hurt that had been done, Nirav felt a part of him nodding. They worship spirits. Fear of that would drive many to lash out. So it is, he thought to himself. But they who had done this had lashed out without aim, hurting many but not those who they feared most. The young hunter doubted that a single Monk had been among the injured.

Charumati raised an eyebrow and gave Nirav a wry smile. "Many nothings being said, indeed." He was sharp, even including the language barrier, and she felt (not for the first time) that taking Nirav under her wing had been the right thing to do.

She finished putting away the meat and busied herself making a cup of tea. Holding the teapot under the spigot as it filled, she addressed her companion.

"Do you remember," she began, "when we met?"

It was a semi-rhetorical question. The circumstances of their meeting and subsequent mentorship arrangement weren't likely to be forgotten so easily, or so soon. She continued, gesturing to the cat curling itself around Nirav's legs.

"You followed this cat, yes, to protect it against those who would hunt without purpose, for sport."

The tea kettle filled, she set it on the stovetop and turned the knob. The gas clicked for a few seconds before flames sprung to life. Charu reached into a nearby cabinet and began rifling through her tins of dried tea leaves. Ah, lychee oolong. A hint of summer during the winter months. She pulled the tin from the cabinet and doled out just enough tea into the strainer for two cups.

"We have spoken before about strength, and that those who cannot fight must learn to do so or perish."

She turned to face Nirav, leaning back against the counter and gesturing once more to the cat. "But even so, sometimes that is wrong. When it is done for sport, for cruelty, simply because the one with strength can, it is wrong. Do you agree?"

Nirav watched the feline that was twining itself around his ankles as Charumati spoke on their first encounter with each other. He nodded when asked questions, occasionally attempting to nudge the creature away. It remained persistent, however.

"You hunt, yet?" Nirav muttered to it, before turning his attention fully onto his host. He thought on her question a moment before speaking up.

"In real world," the hunter said gesturing towards the mountains outside the city. "It is simple. Strong eat weak. Weak get strong, or are eat... err, eaten. In the walls, not so simple. Strong hurt weak, but do not eat them. No purpose. No balance. This I find. As you say, so it is."

The young man swiftly connected the dots, his eyes flashing back towards the paper.

"You talk of this?" Nirav queried. "Many hurt who are not Monks. Many hurt who were just there, yes? Pointless. No balance. They... They..."

Struggling to find the right word, Nirav slapped the back of one hand into the palm of the other violently. This upset the feline, who promptly fled into another room.

"Attack, no direction. They see those who not fight back and think 'I hit them, I can not be stopped'. How many Monks hurt? I say none, or few. The attackers do not know, or do not care. Or both. Even beasts know what prey to attack and why. Beasts have more purpose than these."

Nirav went to spit on the paper, but stopped. That was not done in this place. He made do with simply tutting his annoyance at the offending picture instead.

"No balance. All this city is without it, I am thinking," the hunter concluded.