Arran ran.<br/><br/>You see, there was one thing about growing up on a farm: you never had the chance to oversleep. There were a hundred things to do before the sun had risen, and another hundred to get sorted before you got your first bite to eat. In a room in Marco's inn, on the other hand, there was nothing to interrupt you. If you rolled over and muttered to be left alone, they left you alone.<br/><br/>That, of course, meant you're almost late for your second day as a mage. And Master Jachym didn't seem like the type to take to lateness well.<br/><br/>Arran ducked into a small gap between two houses and vaulted the wall at the end in his hurry. It was route he'd used before more than once when trying to get away from fights he picked that weren't going his way. Up the wood pile and over the thick thatched roof of the Grist's home and back into the clear, and up to his destination.<br/><br/>He took a few deep breaths and ran his hands over his sleep-scruffed, brown hair, trying to smooth it into some sort of respectability. Then, nerves jangling, he knocked.