33rd Spring, 511 A.V. "...in all the towns in all the world, he's got to walk into this one," Sama'el muttered to himself. He had delivered the Endrykas Post to the Council and spent a few days waiting for a reply, but for the most part he had been living on the outskirts of Riverfall, spending his time at the Sanctuary where there were other Drykas, horses, and open plains rather than the walls of a city. It was with great speed that he had shed the habits of "civilized" life in order to return to his roots. In any case, he had spent the day sightseeing around the city, his Strider left in the capable hands of the horse-healer at the Sanctuary, and now he was just trying to enjoy a post-meal drink. But Doc was there. Doc, who had stolen his money -- well, now with time to think about it, Sama'el had to admire the better theif. Doc, who had stolen Nel from him -- not that she had been anything more than a friend upon who he had hung a few fragile hopes. Doc, who -- well, perhaps the gods had thrown them together for a purpose. He only hoped Xyna didn't want to put his mizas in Doc's pocket again. "Doc," he called, and when he got the man's attention, "Buy you a drink?" For old time's sake might have sounded too ominous, so he left that part off. There was no reason to put the master thief on edge or get on his bad side again. For all he knew, Doc might not remember or recognize him. Certainly now his windmark was visible on his left wrist, as well as the new inkwork rising up his arm. His hair was longer, his clothing of Drykas cut, and he held himself with more confidence now, a full-fledged Drykas clansman with a bonded Strider and a place on the honored Watch. |