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[color=Silver]	There was a blissful view across a meadow, in which the farthest reaches of all of life's creations flourished and pranced, where man and woman flourished in love and tenderness beneath the snowfall that drifted from the mountains. Weeks of laughter and light, and the beautiful glistens of blossomed cheeks granted such unmatched scenes - and beyond it all sat the endless stretches of grain and wheat, and the wind passed through the bales with a caressing touch to each glade. It was the prettiest of all places, of all landscapes, and there wasn't a picture that could've matched what he saw. Where was that distant land? He did not know. No one knew. It was that everglade utopia sat far off out of the reaches of all, yet he had it in his sightline and he felt all his woes dissipate. There was tranquillity in beholding the beauty. There was ease in its gentle drifts and flowing rivers. The birds above circled not to find prey, but to take it all in from the clouds and to appreciate everything from afar. And he thought he was sat there, in the thick waves of greenery and pastures, until he felt the land snap black, and then an oak plank replaced the brilliant gaze.

	His head was sore. More so, his back hurt. A lot. The morning cramp hadn't been from age nor weariness, but from the inexcusable quality of the mattress in which he lay upon. Toda Ujiteru was no stranger to discomforts, in fact the mercenary life had made it abundantly clear that those of his calibre were to get used to it, but the expectations of comfort from the bedding he had chosen had made the delivery of such a rough night all the worse. And when met with not a night sky, or the calming wave of a tent frame in harsh, mountainous gales, he was shown the unappealing shades of splintered wood-ceiling. The combination of what should've been luxury, at least compared to the sleeping kits of the encampment, with the execution of such a terrible excuse of a bed made it all the worst that Drakesrift had to offer. What spilled the milk bucket the most was the neighbouring room, of which a couple's [i]embrace[/i] had snapped him from his dream so sharply he'd have guessed he slept in a brothel.

	So to say, he wasn't anywhere of the sorts. The inn he'd wandered in the night before shortly after their arrival to the city had been what it was, a cheap getaway located in sidelines of the great market. He dragged himself from the concrete cushioning and rose to the mirror, where he was greeted with his bare body staring back at him. He frowned. The reflection frowned in return. Quickly, he turned to his right and started gathering his equipment. For cities as such, he tended to wear his usual light armour, for it could pass as something fashionable if it weren't for its intended use, however as it had been a granted day off, unofficially of course, he'd dressed down to his usual robes - black and white, with only a grey tone to separate the two colours down the middle. It was additionally married to additional scarves that tucked into the inside of his clothing, padding out the warmth whilst blending it into the loosened fit.

	He walked to the window midway through his dressing session, and he opened it with the push of a single hand. It made a squeal, though not like the one of his neighbouring holiday-maker's wife, and he was met with the true blast of light of the morning. The city's layout had made it hard to see the shine of the day, with larger and more daunting heights in the streets than Osha's wall-like and spaced out towns, but the dustiness of his window had practically shielded him from it until he'd peered out.

	There wasn't much to see. A few alleyways were below, where an armoured constable would walk with one boy to his side, and families, business partners and merchants scurried in crowds down in the pavements below. The city's bustle was to be expected, and he was sure that if he'd listened hard enough, he'd have heard Beato on the other side of the earth, haggling over a scabbard or piece of silk. Though in all honesty, the sound of a shouting merchant was preferable to the situation he was in. He finished getting himself dressed, then tucked his smaller blade into its sheath, which hung from his loose belt. Then, he gathered what little belongings he'd brought with him, including a small hand-drawn sketch. As it was scooped into his hand, he took a second to look at it.

	It was colourless, sat upon beige parchment, and he gave himself a little smile. It wasn't the drawing itself that he drew pleasure from, but the act of having drawn had put his mind to ease the night before, after he'd decided to spend the night in the inn rather than prowl the streets back to the encampment. That sensations of graphite to page were where his mind returned, and as he did so, he'd sketched out a figure of a faceless woman, flowed with short hair that bristled down her spine. Of course, without the proper painting equipment, it was far less like he'd envision, but only those who cared about such things were the ones who hadn't created it. He put it into his pocket, at the very least, imagining that he could at least make half the coin back he spent on the inn room from some haggler merchant who thought way too much of its value, or too little.

	Outside, the air was...[i]fresh[/i]? Well, it was, but it wasn't exactly flowing meadows. Markets were like that. Morning meats and fresh fruit made for some scents, but the odours of crowds tended to be the strongest. It wasn't bad, per se, but it wasn't exactly perfume. As he came outside, a man walked past him, and Ujiteru - knowing full well the difficulties of getting one's attention in a busy street - gently grabbed onto his bicep to lurch his attention sideways. The streetwalker snapped out of his dreary state, having been brooding over some sort of business unknown to Ujiteru.[/color]

[color=Orange][b]"What in-"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]He began, but the recently awoken Ujiteru paid his due politeness to the best of his ability.[/color]

[color=A7CF00][b]"Excuse me, where is-"[/b][/color]

[color=Orange][b]"Get your hand off my arm, Sir!"[/b][/color]

[color=A7CF00][b]"Where is the way out of the city?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]There was a short moment of pause as the two watched each other. Of course, the accent stood out, if the clothing hadn't sold it away, but in the moment all Ujiteru hoped for was that the man didn't mistake him for a Hoshidan, as the unwise might've.[/color]

[color=Orange][b]"What?"[/b][/color]

[color=A7CF00][b]"Where's the-"[/b][/color]

[color=Orange][b]"Speak up!"[/b][/color]

[color=A7CF00][b]"The city exit! I need to find it!"[/b][/color] 

[color=Orange][b]"Oh...right..."[/b][/color] [color=silver]Ujiteru unhanded him, though he could've easily have shrugged it off with how feathered of a grasp it was. He patted himself down. The Oshan wasn't sure why. Maybe his fingers were dirty. Wouldn't have been uncommon. Then, the merchant cleared his throat and raised it above the chants of hagglers and salesmen.[/color] [color=Orange][b]"Pass through the market place, straight down. It'll take you to the main road eventually, then you go out from there."[/b][/color]

[color=A7CF00][b]"You have my thanks."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	Ujiteru watched as the fellow wanderer then disappeared off into the crowd. And as he did so, the Sergeant-At-Arms struck himself with the thought of his company. Where was he in relation to other Silver Hawks' members? Well, he couldn't have been too far, could have he? Surely another had entered that far in on the day off. Maybe Beato had beaten her way around the market. Maybe Bhaskara had innocently made a friend or some sort of city-side sweetheart. Or maybe Noriko had...- [i]actually,[/i] he didn't want to think of what Noriko had done. Best to remain unassuming, he thought. And with that in mind, he made headway, albeit a little slow through the crowds, as he waded through the market, on his way back to the encampment - or rather whoever he'd find first.[/color]