I was sitting on a rock in Faerie. Faery. Fae. Fae’ree. Whatever. Dirt or spattered blood burned my eyes. The half-moon hung overhead, leeching the color from the scene of a battle.

Our battle.

I think I was smiling. Bhuto and Brock were not.

I looked them over. “The hell’s the matter? We won.” I scrubbed an itch on the side of my face.

“How’s the pain?” Brock asked.

I frowned and looked down at my shirt. “What pain? I didn’t get hit. None of us did. We won. That’s what that means, right?”

Bhuto’s face didn’t change. “He means the needle, Sean.”

I stared at him blankly for a few moments before I understood his meaning. “Oh. Ah. Fine. No pain at all.” I patted my collarbone lightly to prove my point, and it wasn’t a bluff — I didn’t feel a thing there except the direction we needed to go.

Bhuto frowned and looked at the dwarf, then back to me. “How close are you and your father?”

My turn to frown. “I don’t know. He’s my dad. Close enough.”

He’d understood me; that much was clear.

I watched the two of them exchange looks. “What’s the problem? You two look like we lost and I finally feel like I know what’s going on.”

Bhuto nodded. “Usually there is more… discomfort.” He shook his head. “I think there’s been a mistake made, Sean.”

I waited.

”You are very comfortable here; you are compatible. You are also strong. You remember what we told you of what the… goblins?” He looked at me for confirmation of the word.

I nodded.

”What the goblins planned for your father?”

I nodded again, not liking the turn in conversation. Nothing they’d told me about that had been good.

”You’re a good match to your father. It’s possible that what happens to him will carry over to you, via that link, which is so strong it does not even pain you.” He gestured at my chest. “It even more possible that by bringing you here, we’ll bring you to the attention of those you’d do best to avoid.”

I stared at him. Then I chuckled. I couldn’t help it. By the look on his face he thought I’d cracked.

”This,” I said, waving my arms all around me, “is about my dad. Not me. Him. His fight. I’m here to help him. You,” I pointed at them both, “brought me here for that.”

”But--”

”Shut up.” I said, and glared. “Thank you for the warning, you are a good friend.” I looked at both of them. “Now,” I pointed. “He’s that way.”