Completed Getting Inked, Getting Even (Savos)

[Sal Mander]

Day 58, Summer of 514 A.V.

Lazuli Ink was his destination, as Sal neatly sidestepped an old woman who emerged from a doorway in the thin alley. She paid him little mind, being at that age where the streets were hers as far as she was concerned. Continuing onwards, Sal picked his steps with a little more care, keeping an observant eye out for any further possible collisions. That doorway he just passed was in fact the last for a while, as the alley began to twist this way and that like a saggy piece of string. Thin as string too, as far as alleyways went. There was just barely room for two abreast, requiring concentration and skill for the otherwise simple art of passing others by.

Sal noted that most of the traffic wore the uniforms of the shinya, patrolling the alleyway as if it might be the secret entrance to the kina reserves of the city. Maybe the shinya and tattoos went hand in hand, for as Sal came around one final curve in the alley, the small glass dome of Lazuli Ink came into view. He likened the building to a candle flame trapped in time, the skyglass climbing to a point while a set of stone stairs sat at the front enticing people inside. Sal had been meaning to come back here for a while now, having made the trip once before but only to check the place out. This time, he was more resolute on what he wanted, and there was no backing down.

The stone steps awaited with silent patience, breaking sound only to echo the footsteps as Sal climbed them two at a time. The door yawned open revealing little change inside from when he had last come. The bench was still there, beneath the selection of pictures that showcased the talents of the artists within. Sal took a moment to gaze at them, wondering exactly when and where the first tattoo artist had discovered his art. In the back of his mind he wondered how much the process had changed over the years, or if it was one of those things that needed not to be tinkered with.

[Savos]

Some days don't start right. Some days are days that would have been better off spent in bed, sleeping. Dreams were not as likely to render one feeling sour, pessimistic, and unbearably lonely. When the sky was grey and the Gods were looking away, loneliness was the thing that ate at Savos the most.

Today was one such day, despite Syna's glare reflecting off of every surface in Lhavit. Savos was awoken suddenly a loud chirping bird that had been perched upon his window. The creature had an elegant form in the morning light, but Savos would have none of it. He shooed the bird away, cursing at it for ruining a perfect dream.

He could not remember the dream now, but he could recall the feeling of utter peace it had given him. Now that he was up, he could feel the soreness of his body and the pain that came with being awake. The sun was in his eyes.

On his way to his place of work, he kept his eyes to the ground in a sulking mood. His mind was buried in thought, recalling his experiences at Lazuli Ink a few days earlier. A man had come in asking for Savos personally on account that his Myrian blood might render him superior to the expert Inecino, master tattoo artist. The man's pompous attitude still angered him days later, and sent his blood boiling at the thought that he had not confronted him at the time. He couldn't, after all. Bloody customers could strut around Lazuli Ink like they owned the place. The perfect little dome did not deserve such treatment.

He passed by a man who had clearly been up since the night before, drinking. He walked up to Savos and asked for some change, explaining that he simply needed some money for food before his next payday at work. Savos expected he had squandered it on alcohol, perhaps gambling.

He told the man that he had no change to give, which was true. He would've given the man spare kinas if he had any, despite his judgment of the man's irresponsibility. The man reacted negatively, threatened to hit Savos. Tension rising, the man insulted Savos and tried to push him, which only incited Savos to push him back, harder. His superior Myrian strength versus a smaller, drunk man was not much a match. The man stumbled back and fell, and Savos fled the scene before he could get back up and retaliate.

The day was not a good one. He should have stayed in bed, let pleasant nightmares carry him off to a place that was not here. He stormed into the small tattoo parlor, dejected and fed up with the blackness that invaded every corner of his mind. The grimace on his face was only slightly erased when he saw that there was someone else in the room with him.

He was browsing the various illustrations that littered the area, showing themselves off to any who walked inside. Savos immediately changed his attitude, adopting the facade of a warm smile and welcoming posture. The blackness still raged on in his mind, but he pushed it back and reverted to a more tranquil attitude.

“Welcome,” he said, trying not to betray any hint of his frustrations.

“I'm Savos. Can I help you with anything?” He held out his hand to shake his.

[Sal Mander]

Sal had been looking at the illustrations when the Myrian had entered. Turning to the sound of the doors opening, Sal noted the look of misery on the newcomer's face, if only for an instance. Realizing that he was not alone, Savos had marshaled his emotions, instead coating himself in a veil of friendliness as he approached the customer. Taking Savos' offered hand, Sal gave it the necessary amount of pressure that would have made his father proud. The handshake was no simple matter, his father had once coached him. Too little squeeze and your acquaintance will think you weak, or untrustworthy. Too much and you'll come across as overbearing and careless. To strike that perfect middle ground was an art form in itself.

With the shake in progress, Sal regarded the man with keen eyes, realizing that his Azenth ability was tingling on the outskirts of his mind. It was long since he had first uncovered that talent, or curse depending on how he was choosing to look at it on a particular day. Back then the voices of emotion in people around him sung or screamed, leaving him with headaches and, worse yet, the feeling that he was going mad. It had been some time before he realized those voices belonged to other people, not just various voices of his own taunting him.

It was even more time before he had learned to filter it, able to ignore its presence, or hone in on it if he so chose. These days, especially in a situation where he shared the room with only one other person, it was easy enough to allow one voice through. In truth, it was not really a voice at all, but rather a feeling. Kind of like a smell, but sensed in the mind rather than actually smelling it. That feeling hung in the air, wafted towards him as he tried to decipher its meaning and put a name to it. This fellow before him, friendly though he seemed, had a feeling of frustration. A hint of anger perhaps? Well, Sal was not expert enough to know exactly which, but he could at least make an educated guess.

One thing was for sure. The talent only seemed to pick up very intense emotions in other people. It ignored regular everyday things like general happiness, or a passing dislike. But if something burned in someone fiercely enough, it revealed itself to Sal. With the hand shake complete, he glanced back over to the pictures behind him, as if to signal his intent, before offering his reply.

"Well, I was wondering if you might be able to take a look at a design of mine. I'm considering it for my upper arm." Without waiting for an answer, Sal felt inside his jacket for a rolled up parchment, which he produced while he spoke. Unrolling the scroll, he presented the design for Savos' inspection.

[Savos]

Savos noticed the mark on Sal's hand when they shook. A flame, swirling around his veins as naturally as fire licked the bark off wood. He admired the handiwork, for the lines were sharp and the ink showed no signs of fade that was common among aging tattoos.

The man himself had a look of weariness, lines crawling across his face as visual proof that he had suffered more years on this world than Savos. His handshake was firm and stable, and he was straightforward as a ram when he showed Savos the example. He wondered idly, as he analyzed the drawing, whether the man had decided to do it on a whim or had meticulously planned it.

The wing in the design was relatively simple. The tools of his trade were designed to create rows of straight lines without much effort on the tattooist's part. Since the needles were arranged in rows, they created a perfect line with a single puncture. The circle, on the other hand, was more of a challenge. Such a perfect sphere was always difficult to handle because of the irregular surface of skin. The way skin formed around the complexities of muscle and bone had to be taken into account to avoid imperfection, and a circle could turn into a wobbly ellipse at the slightest miscalculation.

“Interesting design. I'll go in the back to see who's around, and I'll be right back,” Savos said politely to the man, and retreated to another room inside Lazuli Ink to find Soraya, the timid Symenestran girl, organizing pigments.

“Hi Soraya. There's a man out front who's looking to get a tattoo. Where's Inecino?”
“Inecino's out,” Soraya said, continuing her work on labeling each pigment.
“He said if anyone comes by without an appointment, then you should take care of it.”
“Me?” Savos said, wondering why Inecino hadn't delegated that job to Soraya like he usually did.
“Yes. He says you did a good job on that Sulia fellow, and it's better practice to work on a human than anything else. Is the tattoo particularly complex?”
“Not quite,” he said, and handed her the design that the man had given him. She peered over it for a moment, and handed it back to Savos.
“Looks alright. I'll go get the tools ready, and you talk with him.”

He nodded, and went back to the lobby where he had kept the man waiting.

“Sorry about the wait. You have, of course, thought through your decision to get this tattoo?” It was a customary question to ask anyone who came in, especially the ones who just walked in randomly. Savos simply repeated Inecino's speech pattern, asking the same question he had heard him use hundreds of times. He didn't really find it necessary to ask of someone who already had a tattoo and understood the permanence of it, but it was a part of the job.

Though he was excited about the fact that Inecino placed more trust in him, and less anxious than he was the first time tattooing somebody, he still felt sour. It was as though sloth reigned over Savos in his waking state, wanting nothing more than to retreat into a corner away from his responsibilities. He was in no mood to focus for hours on a tattoo. Why wasn't Soraya leading this? An irrational sense of resentment came over him, over the people who made him work today and the man who wandered so early into the shop.

Just a bad morning, Savos thought to himself to keep the evil thoughts at bay. If only he could disregard the way he felt moments before, the rest of the day could continue normally. But Savos had a habit of over thinking, reliving the bad moments over and over once he was reminded of them.

[Sal Mander]

Sal waited patiently while Savos stepped out back, taking the opportunity to once more look over the paintings and designs on the wall. He looked down at the marking on his hand, wondering how Ivak had managed to mark him so instantaneously and without any notion of pain or discomfort. For the most part it looked like just a regular tattoo, but Sal was certain that on occasion the flame pattern moved and mimicked a real flame, dancing chaotically on his hand.

He covered the mark with his other hand, a motion that was subconscious now for the most part. His identity as an Azenth was still his greatest secret, and he guarded the mark as though it might betray him and announce the truth. Pushing such notions to the edge of his mind, instead he pondered on tattoos in general. In some cultures they were of course a sign of strength, or perhaps used to detail certain life events and milestones. There were those that bore marks that carried a negative connotation, or maybe as a form of identity such as slaves and prisoners. There there were those that liked to wear and flaunt them, like some throwaway fashion accessory, only this was one that could not so easily be discarded.

His own reasons for the tattoo were quite simple. His two brothers and he had come up with the design. The eldest brother had needed a coat of arms for a theatrical play he was acting in, and the second eldest had included the design onto a shield. It was supposed to represent freedom, in the form of the wing that meant they could fly away to new horizons. But so too was it a reminder of family and friends, the circle representing that all journeys came full circle in time, and that the brothers three would be reunited again in due course.

That was laced in irony now, his two brothers having long since departed Lhavit. But he had kept the design with him, choosing now to wear it on his skin as a reminder of his kin. But the meanings behind the pattern were different now. He saw the circle as life in perpetual motion, maintaining order and balance as the Azenth were charged with overseeing. The wing meanwhile was...well, he had not quite decided what he saw that as now. Maybe he just liked the pattern after all.

Soon enough Savos had rejoined his customer, going over the the standard spiel concerning patrons being sure they wanted their tattoo after all. Sal nodded his agreement, keen to get started, though also thoughtful of the tone in Savos' voice. That tingling on the edge of his mind remained present, and he grew all the more curious as to what might have put the man at odds with the world.

[Savos]

He nodded silently, curt but not impolite. Savos was relieved that this fellow was not the talkative type, as every word he heard at the moment felt like worthless babbling to his ears. The way he covered his hand went by unnoticed to Savos, but the image of the tattoo lingered in his mind. There was something very mesmerizing about the shape and form of that dark flame. He wished to analyze it further, learn from the work of another tattoo artist who had created something so indelible.

Savos led the new customer to the tattooing area, a small room that was bare save for a low table and a few chairs. Soraya walked in as well, carrying rags and pigments required for the job. Savos wished he could help, remembering that the assisting during a tattoo session usually required two people. He had been on his own like Soraya was a few times before, and it was an unpleasant amount of work to do on one's own.

He offered the man a seat on the ground, which might have been strange since there were chairs lying around, but it was necessary. Tattooing was a delicate art, and one of the greatest difficulties was to find a good vantage point to draw on whatever part of the body was asked. Chairs were unstable and generally counterproductive to that end. So Savos sat cross legged in front of his client on the warm wooden floorboards.

“Do you want this one to be purely black?” Savos asked as his eyes scanned over the design again and again. He was over analyzing every little curve and flick of the drawing, with the hope that burning the image into his brain might aid him in rendering the result more successful.

Black was likely. It did not seem to offer any areas to fill with color except for the circle's interior. Perhaps the man would want to create the lines with Lapis Ink? It was common among the Lhavitians to choose the glowing ink, as it was so much like their home, like themselves. Soraya stood on the side, waiting for the man to reply so that she could properly prepare what Savos needed.

“Can I ask which shoulder you prefer this on? Any specifications about size?” he remembered sourly that his previous client had been unsatisfied with his work because the tattoo was too small for his liking. His pride still flared at the memory of the comment.

He looked down at the hammer and needle he had taken into his hands, noticed that they were trembling. It was very subtle, but the mere presence of this trait scared Savos. He always had a stable hand, and experienced this fragile sensation only at some of the most stressful times of his life. Why was he so anxious now? He knew he was in a bad mood, but it certainly was not an excuse to allow such a physical impairment to keep him from doing his job well. It was not enough of a handicap to render him useless, but he knew it would slow down his progress if he could not get this involuntary movement under control. He erased the thought out of his mind, hoping that forgetting it might just make it go away.

“Are you ready to begin?"

[Sal Mander]

"Black," he replied when asked of the color for the tattoo. He had seen the unique qualities of Lapis ink on friend's tattoos, but Sal was not so fancy to select it himself. The design was enough that it needed no additional flair or style. Hearing the man's response, Saroya departed the room to acquire the necessary pigment, leaving the two men unattended for a few moments. They shared a brief discussion concerning the size and placement of the tattoo, coming to the conclusion that it would feature on the left shoulder, about the length of an average sized adult hand from fingertip to wrist.

But while the technicalities had been squared away with expert efficiency, there was something not quite right that settled on the room like an invisible fog. It was that heavy kind of fog that, if visible, would have shrouded line of sight to a mere few feet. The kind that swam around trees in the forest, like a never ending serpent whose one purpose was to obscure the forest floor from view. Lakes and ponds lay hidden underneath, while within the fog shadows shuffled and merged, while whispers crawled faintly with notions of terror and dread. Sal felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, a feeling that he had not felt since an encounter with a ghost not so long ago. It left him feeling rather uncomfortable as he sat there on the floor, but in that moment he knew that it was not a specter come back to haunt him. Instead, he found himself watching Savos, wearing an almost confused look on his face as he squeezed his hand closed before opening it again.

Sal did not have the drop on Savos by any means, but he just could not help escape the feeling that all was not well with the man. Coupled with the insight he had garnered earlier from his Azenth sense, he decided that a tattoo was perhaps not the best idea at this moment. But how to withdraw from the situation without giving rise to suspicion or causing offense? He might have spun a yarn about coming over a little queasy, or perhaps some tall tale of a just now remembered prior engagement of much importance. Sal wondered the life of a liar must have come with a great deal of conveniences, though so too it must have ran its risks. In either case, his was not the way of non-truths and deception. So then he could only deploy the tried and tested way of honesty, hoping that he could emerge from the scene unscathed.

"I am sorry to do this, but I think I have changed my mind, at least for the present. Perhaps it would be best if I came back another time?" He waited with a sense of defeat for Savos' response, feeling truly guilty for having wasted the fellow's time. All the while, he still maintained the curiosity as to the source of the tattoo artist's anguish. Sal had a certain amount of compassion when it came to his friends, often times putting them and their troubles first and foremost. But it would also be accurate to say that his concern for the well being of others did on occasion extend to people that he did not know. Perhaps it was Savos' luck to be considered for Sal's attentions on this particular matter. Or his bad luck, depending on how you looked at it.

[Savos]

Cold feet was certainly not new to the little domed parlor. It was in fact common, accepted, and always forgiven. After all, getting a tattoo was not like deciding to treat oneself to some new clothing on the way home, or getting a bite to eat. It was a difficult decision of a very personal nature, and everyone who worked at Lazuli Ink knew that.

Yet anger was a funny thing, even more so in Savos' repressed mind. Always pushed down to the deepest trenches of his gut, tensions built every day. Little by little, events and emotions piled up, each rubbing the other the wrong way yet stuffed together in a cramped up space. On this day, Savos could not blame the man in front of him for anything. Yet he did, he blamed him for all the injustices wrought upon him in his recent past, simply for saying the wrong thing in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Dejected by Sal's sudden withdrawal, Savos could feel nothing but indignation toward the man. How dare he make both he and Soraya go through the entire process of preparation, only to back out at the very last minute? Savos felt personally insulted, attacked even. He felt suddenly self conscious, as though the man had somehow seen the subtle trembling in his hands, had discovered his weakness and deemed him unworthy.

"Is there a problem here?" he asked in the tone of one who didn't really care what the problem was. He was practically looking for a fight with the words that he spat, thinking irrationally that maybe punching this fellow might make up for all those other times he left someone off the hook, like how he had let that idiot drunkard in the morning slide without so much as a scuffle.

Then he saw Soraya's face, at how surprised she was. It wasn't even about the fact that he had spoken with such audacity to a customer, and how unprofessional he may have sounded. It was the fact that the people who knew Savos would never expect such agitation from someone who was otherwise composed at any other time. Her astonishment made Savos want to eat his words, swallow them whole and put them back into that deep dark place from whence they came.

He immediately averted his eyes, looked anywhere but the people around him, ashamed that he could be so inconsiderate.

"I-I mean, of course. Um, excuse me." he put the tools in his hands down and got up hurriedly. He knew that he had royally mucked up the situation and likely lost Lazuli Ink a customer. He also knew that getting up and walking out would do nothing to appease the situation, but his mind was too preoccupied by feelings over rationality, and he decided that he desperately needed some air.

He burst out of Lazuli Ink before anyone could react to his strange behavior, feeling hot and uncomfortable in his own skin. He ran a hand through his hair, resisted the urge to kick something, yell at himself for being so stupid.

[Sal Mander]

Sal was both triumphant in his calling the situation as he was dismayed, taking little pleasure in being proven right under the circumstances. It did on the one hand mean that he was getting better at reading his Azenth sense, but as the myrian made his exit, Sal was left wondering if he himself had been the sole cause of Savos' frustrations.

Savos made his way outside where daylight and fresh air awaited, though they were not alone. He ran his hand through his hair while trying to compose himself, not noticing the four men who were coming up the narrow street towards the tattoo parlor. One of them had fire in his eyes, raging still from the insult of having been pushed down by Savos earlier in the day. The shove had been brutal, what with the myrian strength with which it was delivered. But the drunkard was as stubborn as he was stupid, passing up the opportunity to let the situation go, instead deciding to harbor a grudge. His friends were no less friendly looking, eager with anticipation at the prospect of flexing their muscles, at least in a group.

In truth these were no more than lowlifes and bullies. Each of them on their own would never have dared to get into a situation they might lose. But safety in numbers tended to bring out misplaced confidence when the group were certain the odds were in their favor. Whether they knew he was myrian or not mattered little. Four against one were good odds.

Back inside, Sal had had a short discussion with Soraya, deploying a few choice questions in an attempt to garner further clues as to Savos' state of mind. She had reported as anyone who knew Savos would have expected, that he was usually a polite and well mannered man who did not quick to anger. In fact, she could not say to her knowledge that the myrian even had a temper. Clearly something was up though to invoke the change in Savos, and Sal was too curious and determined to let it slide. He felt like he could at least try to help, at least until the fellow made it abundantly clear that he did not want any help.

By the time Sal emerged from the mouth of the building and down the steps, he noted straight away what Savos had missed. That was down to simply being more observant at that particular moment. Savos was too busy reflecting inwards at his thoughts, too embroiled in that to notice the four men who were now coming up upon him. Just from their gait and the looks in their eyes, Sal knew trouble when he saw it. The ragtag bunch of scum had that shady no good look to them, like it would not have been a huge ordeal to slit someone's throat. Most likely they would have bragged of such a thing later in some poorly lit tavern, trading stories of how they would drop a shinya at a moment's notice or how they had beaten some poor sap for some equally poor reason. Sal knew the type. Lowlifes and scum. But dangerous all the same.

For now the pack of jackals kept their distance, waiting for Savos to see them so they could begin whatever mischief they were planning. As far as Sal could see from his vantage point up on the steps, none of them were carrying any swords or anything visible. But he ventured a guess that these were the sort that preferred concealment over display, opting for cruel daggers and crudely crafted shanks. They would have to get close to use them of course, but for now with the distance what it was, Sal was content to wait and see how things unfolded before planning his next course of action.

Growing impatient at Savos who seemed completely oblivious of their presence, the man who he had pushed over plucked up a stone from the street, about the size of a plump strawberry. He cast it well across the street and it struck Savos in the chest with a resounding thud. Too small to hurt him of course, but its purpose was to draw Savos into the game and it served its purpose well. It took a moment for Savos to register who the man was that had cast the stone, but when he did he noted the other men and how they were all staring at him with murder in their eyes.

Stonethrower offered a devious grin that showcased a crooked set of yellowing teeth, confident still of having the upper hand. "Nobody be pushin' me around and gettin' away wiv it. You dun gone pissed off the wrong fella I'd say." Having spewed out his hate filled words, the man did at least give Savos time to digest them and perhaps offer a reply of his own. But he was not going to wait long, eager to administer some payback.

[Savos]

Savos considered his options as to what would be the least embarrassing course of action for the future. He could simply walk back in and apologize to Soraya and Sal, if he was still in the room. He could, but he knew that walking back in now before he had cooled off was not a good idea. He did not have the heart to offer a sincere apology at the moment, and anything he said would be a lie. He still felt bitter, out of place, and confused as to why something so trivial had upset him so.

He sat down meekly, and attempted to reflect on the bigger picture. This was far from the first time that he had acted so immaturely. He recalled a younger time, a simpler past.

"Savos, get down from there!" The boy looked down at his father from the tree he sat in, and decided he very much did not want to get down. He knew he would have to, eventually. He could not live in the tree and he knew his father would likely win a battle of patience when it came down to it. "No," Savos replied anyway. The cut on his lip burned as he spoke. He was battered and bloody in several other places on his body, and climbing the silly tree had not helped ease the pain. He knew his father would not hit him if he came down. He rarely did, and on the occasions that it did happen, it was usually over him upsetting his mother again. This time, Savos had simply picked the wrong fight. He was at the age where kids learned to gang up on each other. The man below him was simply playing the role of his father. His shouting was not directed at him, Savos knew. As he pleaded for Savos to stop acting like the child he was, he was likely more angry at the gods for giving him a child that wasn't his, one that he had no idea how to take care of. Surely, if the boy were at least human, he would know how to help him.

The memory brought a bittersweet feeling to Savos' heart. To this day, Savos did not know how to be helped. He spent so much time thinking and observing what was around him that he often forgot that there was him in the center of it all. He was almost amused to think that he would allow his own negativity to sneak up on him like that. He just needed some time alone, was all.

As fate would have it, he would not be allowed this very simple wish. A stone hurtled into his chest at an alarming speed, though it was more the shock of it than any physical pain that cause Savos to jump up and search for its origin.

He barely recognized the man, but when he did, he understood immediately what he was in for. He barely even heard the idiot's words as he eyed the three men with him in utter disgust. Kids learned to gang up on each other. And after that, they never forgot. Savos was not one to deny the strategic advantage of it. Still, he had been on the losing side for too long in his lifetime to not be utterly repulsed by it. He had started to naively believe that he had the idea of being bullied behind in Denval, but it seemed that even Lhavit, beautiful Lhavit, was not immune to the foolish acts of men.

"Picked the wrong fight again, didn't I," Savos said under his breath. It probably just sounded like inaudible mumbling to the men. He didn't really care for words of retaliation, knowing they all meant nothing anyway, because he was screwed. He wanted to run, for he knew that this time, he might be in for more than a beating. He also knew that he could not outrun four men who could easily corner him in these smaller streets of Lhavit.

There would be no time to think through all his options, for the original drunkard lunged at him. Either the man was still drunk, or simply not very good at this sort of thing, for Savos easily saw the attack coming and grabbed his fist as it came toward him. He pulled at his arm and let go, letting the man fall to the ground in a jumble of limbs, much like the first time Savos had dispatched him.

He was not ready for the second attack, however. The second man had sprung into action almost at the same time of his companion, and he was not playing around. He came up behind Savos, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back. Savos jerked away from the motion, and realized too late that it was just what the man had expected him to do. He was brandishing a blunt object, and it moved too quickly for Savos to even see what it was before it knocked him in the stomach.

Savos hunched over in pain at the force of the attack. He resisted the urge to throw up whatever it was that he had eaten in the morning. He could see the two remaining men spring into action, and they were soon upon him. One grabbed Savos' left arm, and he replied promptly with a swift punch to the face before the other could grab his right.

He stepped backward, frantically trying to get away, but he was only met with a blow to the back from an unknown source. He knew it was again the work of a weapon as he fell to his knees, for he felt the burn of a puncture wound in several different places where the object had hit him. This is it, his mind repeated again and again in a panic, positive that death awaited impatiently.