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	Minus the bow for now, Jack left Torn’s Blacksmith with duffel on shoulder and his new daggers dangling open blade from his belt. When he stepped out on the street he looked down toward the bridge. The guard was still near the tree by the Mill’s entrance, his eyes were still stuck like glue to Jack, his hands were still fixed to the hilt of his sword. Apart from that, the sun had snuck behind the mountains on its angled ascent of the morning sky, causing an eerie type gloom to be cast upon the ancient village, where, aside from the guard, the community seemed utterly absent of any activity.   

Jack felt like antagonising the guard, so he did. He contrived a ridiculous smile, a little wave of one hand. The guard in response widened his stance, hands tightening their grip on his weapon. Jack chuckled and walked the rest of his short journey across the street to Amber Wears.