Finally free from the prison Gorosk's relief was immediate.  It was an odd thing confinement.  The prison conditions themselves had not been truly torturous.  Compared to his time in the monastery it had not been all that bad.  They had fed him and they had left him alone.  No fights, no chores, no sermons.  Yet the inability to escape and indeterminate length of his sentence had been unbearable.  They were free once more, at least in one sense.  He could touch the leaves he had seen through the windows.  Gorosk did so.  Running his hand along some leaves.  Breathing fresh air.

The Justice was gone, only the Priest left now.  Only Marthan and the hateful militiamen.  Only them, and whatever it was they were being made to do.  Wherever they were going to be made to go.  The chests came out, Gorosk gathered his few belongings, nodding to his fellow prisoners as he did so, and changed in to his own clothes.  Mutterings of pools, angry faces, disinterested faces, frightened faces watching the prisoners as they each readied themselves.  The militia whispering to each other all the while.  Let them whisper.  Soon the journey would begin.  Gorosk hoped it would at least be interesting, interesting and far far from this prison.  The sooner they were rid of this place the better.  Finally a voice spoke up, uncertain perhaps but clear.

"Forgive me, not all of your things are here as you can tell, His Honor ordered the men to keep hold of your weapons until we returned to the village. I am sure you can understand his reasoning."

"You took my stick and my axe, Priest" he said, fidgeting with the clothing he'd worn since his days in the monastery so it would sit right.  Soft, flowing, loose in the right places.  He pulled from his pack several other pieces of cloth, tying a scarf over his head and wrapping two red and beige strips of cloth around his wrists and hands.

"You did not take my weapons."