Dusk was gathering as the setting sun slid below the horizon.  A mild
swell rolled against the granite headland and hissed back out to sea,
phosphorescing dimly.  Carroll lay back out of the wind in a hollow in
the rock, staring up at the broken cloud scudding by.  

His consciousness was relaxed, spread out over the land, absorbing the
sounds and scents of the land.  Raucous gulls were squabbling over the
fishermen's leavings; a stiff onshore breeze rustled the grass behind
him; there was a distant crack of sails as a coaster tacked into the
harbour on the last light of day.  He felt, more than saw, the small
batwinged shape of Fyrk, wheeling free on the salt air.

This was home, and he was leaving it early in the morning. Master
Thorvald, his father the baron's mage, had declared last month that he
could train Carroll no more, and that the boy--young man, now--had
enough talent he should be sent to Generica to continue his studies.
So, with fresh journeyman's papers and a letter of introduction,
Carroll was being packed onto a southbound coaster in the morning.

The imminence of that departure had driven him up here with Fyrk, to
say their farewells to the rough crags and the wind.  But the light
was now fading, and while Carroll could easily use Fyrk's eyes, that
would not stop his mother from fretting.  He roused himself from his
reverie and sat up, then sent his awareness out to Fyrk.  He slid
easily into the familiar mind, and for a moment was content to share
the simple joy of flight.  Fyrk, feeling Carroll enter, flipped over
into a dive, and went screaming delightedly through a startled flock
of gulls.

Somewhat regretfully, Carroll retreats a bit from Fyrk's single-minded
play. _Sorry, pal.  Time to go in._

Feigned surprise. Bargaining.

_No way, Fyrk. We've been out here for hours._

Pathos. Image of huddled familiar, caged in dripping dungeon.

_Sigh. Can't you do better than that? That one's getting old._

Grin. Image of Carroll, ring through nose, helplessly following wise
familiar.

_It does not work that well, you little thug. Look, can we drop this,
my body's getting cold._

Slyness. Image of obedient familiar, eating tasty roast in warm kitchen.

_Hah. Deal._

Carroll dropped out of Fyrk's mind as the familiar came skimming low
over the waves toward the headland.  He stood and stretched, working
cold cramps out of his legs. He waited a measured second, then quickly
bent to pick up his walking staff--and there was a sudden intense
flapping as Fyrk arrived where his shoulder had just been. With an
indignant squawk, Fyrk lifted and Carroll stood up innocently.
Glaring, the leathery familiar settled his claws into Carroll's
leather-padded shoulder and wrapped his long tail suggestively around
Carroll's neck.

Carroll laughed, and they set off homeward.