[i][color=orangered]“Praise to The Veils for keeping them safe another night. I pray to He of the Banners, take me soon, so I may see them again. Death, don’t stay your hand.”[/color][/i]

He inhaled slowly and held his breath. Eyes still closed, part of him prayed that the mantra would be enough, that when he finally opened his eyes, he would no longer be here. Yet another prayer he made that went unanswered.  He still lived. Lying on his back, he found himself looking up at the patchwork canopy of the forest above him, fresh sunlight defying the dense foliage to dance on the forest floor below.

[i][color=orangered]“Another time, then…”[/color][/i] He whispered.

He centred himself, senses settling into tune with the world around him. Birdsong and the industry of the natural world ebbed and flowed in his ears until it nestled into a muted ambience over which he could think clearly. Getting to his feet, he made his way up a mossy escarpment to a small waterfall, tumbling its way down a series of miniature rapids made by smooth, polished boulders. Kneeling down he scooped a handful of the clear, glacial water from the stream and washed his face. He hesitated. As the ripples made by his hands calmed, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror of the stream. He barely recognised himself anymore. Although he had to concede, that was almost the idea. He wondered what she would think of him if she could see him now. His jaw tightened.

His face was a labyrinth of scars and valleys. If faces told stories in their imperfections, his was writing new chapters every year. Where once had flown a mane of dark hair, sat a shaved scalp, riddled with yet more scars, these ones self-inflicted and accidental. He had some regrowth but it would do another day before he would have to take a blade to it again.

Returning to where he had bed down for the night, he gathered his things. Rolling up his threadbare bed-roll, he wound it tight, threaded it with a leather lanyard and wrapped it around his waist. He strapped on his sword belt and quiver and slung his longbow around his shoulder and chest. Patting himself down, he found a new tear in his brown trousers. Another spool of thread would have to go on the list of things he needed. The Gods knew that a new pair of trousers was a luxury he neither wanted nor could afford. The perils of sleeping rough. He had to return to civilisation for certain supplies and he knew he needed work. Sell-swords don’t make much from trees and bracken. He made off down the slope, following the stream to where he knew it would end.

He smelt the inn before he saw it, the chimney stacks bellowing smoke which carried with it the smell of rabbit and seasonal vegetables. Normally, that would light the heath in the belly of any traveller, but he had eaten rabbit daily for months and even the promise of fresh, well prepared vegetables couldn’t prevent the bile lashing at the back of his throat. Breaking clear from the undergrowth and onto the path, he stopped. There was something else there, more subtle than the smell of food but unable to be masked by it. A sensation somewhere between scent and knowledge. Something, or rather someone, familiar. Familiar doesn’t always mean friendly.

He didn’t want to speak the name for fear that its mere utterance would make the man’s presence a certainty. His brain took the choice away from him.

[i][color=orangered]“Nomi…What are you doing here?"[/color][/i]

It wasn’t fear that gripped him, at least, not fear of the man himself. More a fear of what his appearance would mean. For both of them. He centred himself again, he couldn’t avoid the inn, he needed supplies. Anyway, his senses could be wrong.

But they never were.

Sure enough, the sight of the blindfolded man sitting casually outside the inn proved his senses right again. He found no comfort in that fact as he approached. He knew it was senseless to try and avoid Nomi, it always was. He was the one person whom would not be fooled by his change in appearance. After all, it mattered little to a blind man, even one as gifted as the serpent that was coiled at the bench in front of him. He didn’t sit down, he didn’t speak, he merely stopped in front of the table, let his hand fall on the pommel of his sword and waited. He knew it wouldn’t be long before Nomi broke the silence.