Early the next morning, Cyrdic and Hermman rode out of Clermount, the Ostlander reluctantly riding the only other horse in the hamlet, given to him by a farmer that owed Hermman a debt of unknown importance. Cyrdic would have gladly let the man keep his steed, but Hermman had insisted. The man said he might have a way to find out just what was happening with Cyrdic's body, but they needed to make it to Bordeleaux where the mage had a few friends he could call favors on. Cyrdic had wanted to thank him, but the mercenary had a feeling the man's curiosity and desire to 'dissect' Cyrdic's state was enough reward. He wished he had his sword with him. Even if the man had not been threatening to him, he'd rather have a familiar blade near him just in case. 

As they rode through the mud laden path, the small wood opened up into the wide, beautiful countryside of Aquitaine. Many who lived here felt the rolling hills of arable land boring, but Cyrdic could still appreciate it. He wished he could say the same for himself. He had cut his hair in the Imperial, soldierly fashion. Close cropped and professional, keeping a small goatee on his chin and upper lip, but somehow he still felt too hairy, and his blazing golden eyes unnerved him. What's more, his memories continued to creep back into his head. 

He had murdered the Baron D'Epee and had assaulted his squire. He couldn't remember why. The thought still egged him, and the harder he tried to remember, the more elusive the memory. He felt it took all of his power to recall who he was as a person, much less his recent reasoning for violence. He needed to concentrate.

He enjoyed hard liquor and the occasional wry joke. He would rather earn his money by plying his trade than have it be handed to him, and not just because he still enjoyed fighting and war a bit more than he should. He disliked riding horses and speaking to Lordly company, and to soldiers he knew how to lead charismatically, and by example. He remembered helping his father in the fields when he was a boy, and enjoyed listening to the soft tunes of his mother as he drifted off to sleep.  

He remembered all too well the bloodlust he felt in combat, and his days training in the Ostland army. He remembered rescuing Camilla and his exile, and he remembered the dangers they faced. One after another. The faces of the companions they had gained and lost. He also remembered falling in love with her, and she with him. The nights of passion mixed with the heated yet obviously heart-felt arguments they would have, and the cute way her lips snarled when she hacked apart the brain of a beastman or told off an arrogant Lord, and her skill as an actress that boggled his mind. 

He missed her. But it was for the best she was Ulric-knows-where, probably thousands of miles from here. He couldn't trust himself anymore. Even now he could feel the wolf that had taken over his body lurking at the edges of his consciousness, as if waiting for his mind to be caught off guard to then pounce and do violence once again. Even when he had inhaled the entire chicken Remy had given him, he could barely contain his hunger. She was better off without him. 

"How far is Bordeleaux?" Cyrdic asked the wizard. 

"Fret not my bestial friend. We'll make for the River Morceaux and then the forest of Chalons. After that we'll make for the western road." he replied. "Have you ever had the wine of the Morceaux valley? Said to be the most delectable in the world." 

"Tremendous." Cyrdic remarked, using the nuance of the word Camilla had taught him. It had baffled him that even though he had learned to read and write, there were still extra layers in Reikspeil to speak properly. He would never understand the pomp. 
[@Penny]