He would say that he didn't know why he put up with all of this, except that he knew exactly the reasons, and they were only worming their way further into his heart the older they got.
He could hardly throw the Arlessa's daughter and her best friend onto the nearest three-story rooftop and tell them to start running, now, could he?
That was what Matthew had done, to learn his trade as a shadow; he'd started young, and it had been hard, with no one to teach him and all the tricks of the trade slowly discovered by luck, or trial and error. Rather a bit more error than trial - he had his sleeves rolled up even in the crisp autumn air, and aside from the blackened fingertips a bit too suspicious to be ink, on one forearm was a ragged and thick ring of scar tissue, from where he had broken his arm in a nasty fall. He'd learned to compensate for the mistake, and well he should have, for it should have costed him a snapped neck, but he wanted no such ugly reminders for Azabeth and Lalin. They were good students, quick to learn and ethusiastic, and he envied them their energy, their love for the work. Matthew had lost his passion long ago, and here he was, the Arlessa's pet ex-con, a shadow of his former reputation.
Oh well, thought Matthew, smirking to himself as Az reached the end of the course and flopped into the grass, brittle and turning brown from the onset of autumn. At least I'm far less likely to wake up with a knife to my throat. Or other vital parts. One psychotic ex-girlfriend was one too many, in his opinion.
He smoothed the smirk from his face, though, and folded his arms across his chest, the 'inkstained' tips of his fingers peeking out. "Again! But with less tripping!"
Az groaned and turned over on her back, spread-eagle on the dying grass and panting. "Ma-aa-att!" she whined, "We're exhausted! C'mon, don't we deserve a rest?"
He made a hmmmph sound, deep in his chest. "Maybe in a few minutes, little bit. Lalin's due for one last run through the course." He flashed a wicked grin, quicksilver and switchblade shiny, before adding, "And while you're sitting down, I've a few locks the pair of you can pick."
Azabeth groaned and flailed a limb dramatically, the very image of teenage reluctance. How fast she had gone from a timid seven year-old waif to a tall young woman - and the heads of the guards were already being turned by that red hair, not to mention her dark-haired elven choice in company. Though Az had yet to set her sights on a boy, Lalin had been conspicuously eying a ruffian from one of the local gangs, and he had been giving her his own speculative looks; Matthew frowned, thinking of Dolain, and reminded himself to school the estate's guard, that Dolain was not to be allowed on the premises at all. Az he was certain would be a handful once she noticed that boys were for more than lifting heavy objects, and Matthew expected Lalin to be the same.
He knew how such boys thought, after all - he used to be one, before either of the girls had even been born.
He shook such thoughts from his head, however (silly Matt, keep your head in the game, you're their teacher, not their father) and called to the starting point of the little gauntlet, grinning at Lalin. "One more run and you're done for the day. I've some apples and cheese with those locks you need to learn to pick!"