I found the second Purple Snail faster than we had expected. The creatures usually hid under roots, inside hollow logs, or beneath soggy clumps of moss, so I checked every one I saw. I crouched low, crawling through mud and old leaves, brushing aside clusters of mushrooms and nudging soggy logs over with my shield. The swamp hummed around us, thick and heavy, as if it were judging how slow I was.

  On the fourth try, a bright purple smear glowed across the moss under a rotten stump. I shoved my hand beneath it, half expecting a bog beetle to bite me, but instead a tiny snail with a plain brown shell slid lazily along the vibrant slime trail like it had nowhere important to be.

  "Found it!" I shouted, hopping up so fast my foot sank ankle deep.

  Winnie cheered like I had retrieved a legendary artifact. She clapped her muddy hands together and bounced once before slipping slightly and regaining her balance by grabbing her log.

  Greta nodded approvingly, though I could tell from her eyes she had expected me to find it eventually. She scooped the snail up with a quick, practiced motion and tucked it gently into the pouch at her hip.

  "Good. That finishes the quest for snails. For now, we head back toward the main group. Myrda should be finishing up with the others. Stay close. The swamp likes to steal children. Especially small ones. Especially small loud ones." Greta looked directly at Winnie.

  Winnie stuck out her tongue, which did not help her case at all.

  We started walking again, our boots sinking into the soft ground. Branches creaked overhead like old bones settling. Every now and then I caught myself looking over my shoulder as though the muck monkey might want a rematch. It did not. But the swamp had a way of making me feel watched.

  We had not walked far before I heard someone crying.

  A soft, trembling kind of crying. Not the kind that comes from pain, but the kind that comes from feeling very small and very alone. It tugged at something inside my chest, something that made me stop walking without thinking.

  "Wait," I said.

  Greta paused mid-step. Winnie almost bumped into her. "What is it?"

  I tilted my head, listening. "Someone is crying. Over there."

  Greta listened a moment, then nodded. "Go on then. But keep within sight. The swamp swallows the inattentive."

  I veered off the path and followed the sound. It led me to a mossy stump beneath a sagging willow. A tiny minotaur girl sat there, hooves tucked in, shoulders hunched around her little frame. Her brown fur was damp from tears; her soft horns curved only slightly like little crescent moons. A massive green booger wobbled in her nostril every time she sniffed.

  My heart twisted at the sight.

  I stepped closer. "Why are you crying?"

  She sniffed again, loudly, like a trumpet played by sadness. "O-Oliver was mean." Her voice cracked and she wiped her eyes with her sleeve, smearing swamp dirt across her face. "He said I am not a real wizard. And I am too ugly to be a wizard. And Instructor Randell says wizards have to look good or they are bad wizards. Is… is that true?"

  My mouth dropped open a little. The words did not make sense. Not just because they were stupid, but because they were cruel in a way I could not understand. I blinked, stunned. "No. That is stupid. Really stupid." I reached up and patted her head. She was so much taller than me that my hand barely made it to her horn. "Oliver is wrong. You are pretty. Look at how sharp your horns are. I bet everyone in your herd thinks you are the most beautiful out of all the future wizards."

  She hiccupped, and a flicker of hope shone in her big round eyes.

  Winnie marched up beside me, fists planted on her hips like a tiny general. "That is right. And Runt over here should know. He was a great and powerful wizard in his last life."

  I snapped my head toward her. "Do not go making up stories about me, Winnie."

  Greta smirked. "You are the one who said you were a wizard, Runt. She is just telling the story how she sees it. And we both saw you cast Shield. You practically saved Winnie’s life."

  Winnie muttered under her breath, "Or at least my dignity." She rubbed her backside. "Swamp almost stole that too."

  The minotaur girl wiped her eyes with both fists. The giant booger wobbled dangerously with every movement. "Really? I heard shield spells are really hard. You must have been very powerful in your last life, Mister Runt."

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  I slapped my hand over my face. "Now everyone is going to think my name is Runt. And that I am a wizard. You know what… fine. If that is what they will call me, then so be it. I will be Runt, the Wizard of Fists."

  Winnie grinned like this was the best idea she had ever heard. Greta made a sound halfway between a snort and a laugh.

  "That has to be the stupidest name I have ever heard," Greta said. "You cannot even throw a proper punch yet. Also, girl, Randell is a horrible instructor. Completely incompetent. But he is the magic trainer for your class, so I am sorry you must deal with that degenerate."

  "It is okay," the minotaur girl said softly. Her ears perked up a little. "Because I want Runt to teach me magic."

  Greta slapped her palm to her forehead. "I am sorry, dear, but he is training in the martial class. He cannot teach you."

  I crossed my arms. "That is not true. I can train her. Even if I do not have magic in this life."

  The girl’s eyes lit up like lanterns being kindled. "Can I transfer to your class then? If you train me in magic?"

  I looked up at Greta with genuine hope. "Would that be okay?"

  Greta shook her head instantly. "No. She would need Instructor Randell’s approval. And that is not likely to happen. He gets paid per head. He is not going to let a single trainee leave his class without a fight."

  The girl’s shoulders slumped, her little tail drooping behind her. My chest tightened again, angry at the incompetent instructor.

  I sat down next to her on the stump. "Do you want to learn magic? Really learn it? Not just the pretty parts?"

  She nodded so fast her booger wobbled like it might launch itself.

  Winnie nudged me. "Runt, you cannot teach her real spells. You cannot even cast real spells."

  "I can teach her what I know," I insisted. "Magic is not just mana. It is patterns, and focus, and intent. And… and knowledge. A lot of knowledge. I have tons of that. My old life was all knowledge." I tapped my forehead. "Some of it is still in here. Somewhere. I think."

  Greta exhaled, long and slow. "Runt… you cannot teach a magic class.”

  "Why not?" I asked.

  Winnie shrugged. "Honestly? I want to see him try."

  The minotaur girl looked between us, eyes shining. "Please. I want to be a good wizard. I do not care if I am pretty. I just want to be good."

  Something in my chest warmed. "Then I will help you." I hesitated, the excitement in my chest cooling a little as the truth settled in. "But I cannot teach you magic unless you are in my class. Not really. I can talk to you. I can explain things. I can answer questions if we meet during breaks. But Greta is my instructor, and Randell is yours. Only she can train me, and only he can train you. That is how the guild works."

  The girl’s shoulders drooped again, the little light that had flickered in her eyes dimming. "So… so you cannot teach me? Not even a little?"

  Winnie nudged me gently. "Runt, tell her something true. Not promises you cannot keep."

  I let out a slow breath. "I can help you understand things. I can share what I know. But if you really want magic training, real training, you would have to be in Greta’s class so that I could train you. And only Randell can approve that."

  The girl’s ears flattened. "Randell will never let me transfer. He said I am lucky he even keeps me at all."

  Greta pinched the bridge of her nose. "This is going to cause problems. But I will see what I can do to get her transferred to my class so you can teach her. Even if I am no wizard, Randell is not an instructor."

  Winnie grinned. "Yes. But it sounds like a fun problem."

  The minotaur girl smiled softly, wiping her nose again. "Thank you, Miss Greta, Thank you, Mister Runt."

  I sighed. "If everyone calls me Runt forever because of this, I blame all of you."

  Greta clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Welcome to responsibility, Runt the Wizard."

  I groaned, but Greta only chuckled and stepped back a little so she could take in the whole pathetic, muddy scene. The minotaur girl sniffled again, rubbing her nose with the back of her sleeve, leaving streaks of swamp grime across her muzzle. I could practically hear Greta calculating how many minutes it would take before this child needed to be dunked in a bath.

  Winnie plopped down on the other side of the girl, crossing her legs with the casual ease of someone who had spent her whole life sitting wherever she wanted, swamp or not. "What is your name anyway? You cannot just call someone the minotaur girl forever. That is silly. Even for me."

  The girl blinked, startled that someone wanted to know. "Um… Meka. My name is Meka." She said it very quietly, like she was used to people talking over her.

  "Meka," Winnie repeated, nodding like she was approving a battle title. "Good name. Runt can work with that."

  I sighed. "Please stop calling me Runt in front of a child."

  Winnie patted my back. "You are a child. We are all children. It is fine."

  Meka fidgeted with her hooves. "Do… do you really think I can learn magic? Even if I do not look like the others?"

  I leaned in a little, lowering my voice the way Greta did when she wanted to sound wise. "Magic has nothing to do with how you look. It is all inside here." I tapped her forehead. "And here." I tapped her chest. "Those are the only parts that matter."

  She breathed out slowly, like nobody had ever said that to her.

  Greta folded her arms, watching me with one raised eyebrow. "That was surprisingly thoughtful, Runt."

  "I am always thoughtful," I muttered.

  "Sometimes," Winnie added laughing.

  I placed my hand on Meka’s arm. "You can be a wizard. A real one. Maybe even a great one. You do not need to look like anyone else. Horns, fur, hooves… none of that matters. Wizards are made by their will. And yours feels strong."

  Meka’s eyes filled again, but not with tears of sadness. Not this time. "Thank you, Mister Runt. I… I will try very hard. Even if Oliver is mean."

  Winnie nodded. "Good. And if Oliver is mean again, tell us. Runt punches monsters. Or at least he tries. I bet he could punch Oliver too."

  Greta groaned. "Runt cannot punch anything. Have you seen it? If he tries to punch Oliver, he will probably hurt himself. Also do not punch Oliver."

  I shook my head. "I am not going to hit a child."

  Meka giggled quietly and stood up, wiping her eyes once more. She still looked tired, still looked small, but she looked steadier too. A little more anchored. A little more like someone who believed she might someday belong anywhere she wanted.

  Winnie hopped up beside her. "Come on, Meka. Walk with us back to the group. Runt can tell you about how he jumped in front of me and cast shield. It was very cool."

  Meka smiled and followed us. Greta brought up the rear, shaking her head.