axes over their shoulders. These axes have two blades. In the stories, these weapons are more than just the work of expert blacksmiths. They have their own history, infused with their own secret powers.” Dawn’s blue eyes glittered. They darted back and forth, attentive, searching the old man’s weathered face. “What your brother must learn is to harness these powers. He will learn to handle an axe of this nature.” She turned her eyes down, looking at the wooden table. “He is too clumsy.” Joe Bob Fenestre shook his head again. “It takes time. Him and you, you both need to learn more patience. When you have truly mastered your weapons, you will be unstoppable. And I mean that in the realest sense.” Dawn’s gaze returned to the old man. Her face was indifferent. But a sliver of hope could be seen in the dark blue of her iris. It became apparent that a woman had approached the table. She had made no sound whatsoever, yet there she was now, standing above the two guests. The curly-haired creature observed them silently, her large, round eyes wide open. She did not blink. Joe Bob Fenestre was the first to notice her. He met her gaze, offering the same silence in return. Dawn looked from the strange woman to the old man, and back. The woman’s eyes grew, iris and pupil merging into a single black sphere as her eyes morphed into one; a single, dark, round eye swelling in the middle of her face. She was young and pretty, the magically morphing eye her face’s only imperfection. In the increasing silence of the pub, she stood, almost towering, staring at Mr. Fenestre, who stared back without flinching.