31st Spring, 510 A.V.
Sam was flying solo today. Usually Horse was in attendance, but for the time being, the anti-Drykas was taking care of business without him. Without Horse, there was no way to distinguish him as Drykas. The windmark on his wrist was covered with a leather cuff. The long braids of his youth were shorn years and years ago and never allowed to grow out again. Without a horse, it was impossible to see his rapport with them. And so he was just another young face in a crowd of humans, bereft of a distinct culture. An orphan like all the rest.
He had his eye out for a deal, or a job, or... there was someone, obviously new to town. Vantha; he recognized him from his time up north. Well, it was a dog-eat-dog world, and so he bumped carelessly into the man and nicked his wallet, paying Murdoch's action forward.
"Sorry!" he said. "I'm such a klutz!"