Sonder cleared her throat.
"I am Blackbird Sonder," she said. "I'm a sorceress on a quest."
The mage did not react.
He remained slouched in his chair, hat still pulled low, as if her words had passed straight through him.
"And this," she gestured to her shoulder, "this is Sireacht."
At that, the featherling chose to detach herself from Sonder and drifted outwards, near the ceiling.
She let out a soft, curious coo and circled once above Sonder's head before settling near her shoulder.
The mage jolted upright.
His chair fell over backwards. All four of his eyes snapped open beneath the brim of the hat, fixed on the featherling.
"What in all the fractures of heaven is that?" he demanded.
Sireacht squeaked and pulled herself tightly together.
Sonder took her from her shoulder into her hands. "She won't hurt you."
"It's a flying lump of dust, messing up my house, which it is absolutely not supposed to be in," the mage said, indignant.
"She's," Sonder emphasized, "a featherling. And she is harmless."
"Great," the mage said sarcastically, "Your familiar then. Of course. Humans will adopt and enslave anything, won't they? Strays, spirits, dust, and rocks. Give you half a chance and you'd put a collar on the very elements."
"I didn't force her to."
"I don't care."
Sonder ignored the comment and set her cup of tea down carefully. "I'm on a journey," she said. "It's a long and complicated tale. But it led me here."
The mage made a vague noise that might have been acknowledgment.
"When I arrived in the village, I asked one of your people if anything strange had happened recently. Anything out of the ordinary. They told me that if anyone would know, it would be you."
The mage let out a sharp, irritated sigh.
Without standing, he reached into the sleeve of his robe and produced a thin metal stick.
It was more of a rod than a wand, being dull at the tip, as if it had seen more poking than casting.
He lifted it lazily and traced a few quick symbols into the air, each one hanging for a second before vanishing like smoke.
Then a broom in the corner of the room snapped upright. So did the mop beside it.
Both sprang into motion, scuttling across the floor.
The broom swept tight around her, while the mop followed behind. Wiping the already clean-looking floor.
They worked diligently, wiping the same place again and again, and then doubling back as if worried they'd missed a speck of dust.
Sireacht found it interesting, following them along, shedding some of her dust on the floor, and when the broom and mop seemed to notice, they followed her.
And as all three were following each other, they formed a circle of perpetual chase.
"I don't like messes," the mage said sourly. "Or guests."
He leaned forward on the table, his chin resting on two palms. "So, the villagers sent you to me."
"Yes," Sonder said. "I-"
The mage barked out a laugh, though there was no humor in it.
"Of course. That's rich. Absolutely rich." He shook his head. "Must be a joke, or a prank."
"It didn't seem like a joke to me," Sonder said, confused at his reaction.
"That makes it worse." He waved a dismissive hand at her. "I didn't become a mage to solve problems. I became a mage to have fewer of them. Less labor. Less expectation. And they, the people of this village, know that. They know exactly that."
The broom and mop stopped for a moment.
"Anyone who actually wants help knows better than to come knocking on my door unless they're carrying gifts, coins, or both," he continued. "So why would they send an outsider? A human, no less. With a floating lint creature."