Wells and Lies

At dusk.

An elk-drawn sleigh glided across the thick snow.

Angel sat in the rear seat of the sleigh, studying the map in his hands. Nite sat beside him, vigorously snapping the reins to make the elk run faster.

This was Rat Tail Street. Residential houses lined both sides, warm light spilling from their windows, while wisps of smoke rising from chimneys were blown into twisted shapes amid the heavy snow.

There were not many adults on either side of the street. Most were children bundled up like little balls of meat, laughing and frolicking with their companions in snowball fights as they waited for dinner.

When the elk-drawn sleigh came by, the little brats were not afraid in the slightest. They even scooped up snow from the ground and hurled it at the carriage.

Nite had been enjoying the exhilaration of riding behind the elk when a snowball suddenly smacked him square in the face. As it slid down, it left a round, bright-red mark on his fair cheek.

The little brat who had hit him pointed at the bridge of his nose and doubled over with laughter.

Had it been any other noble, they would likely have flown into a rage by now. But Nite was an odd flower among nobles. Having drifted across the sea for years and seen much, he was more tolerant than most.

Nite did not get angry. He merely cast a somewhat apprehensive glance at the person beside him. Lord Pat had always been kind and generous, but being offended by children like this...

Nite suddenly froze.

Lord Pat was not angry, because not a single snowball had struck him. Every snowball that flew his way had "naturally" curved around him.

Not only was he not angry, he even wore a devilish smile.