Ewan walked through the haze of dust that thickened the air of the abandoned building. It felt stale like a tired old tree with deep roots and greying bark. The building was tucked between two others of its like in the northeastern part of town. It was not far from the inn, in point of fact, but more importantly it was not far from an entrance to the Tunnels.
The rough of his hand ran down one of the old support beams, a layer of days of neglect dusted down like starfall in the golden light from the front windows. A grumble, the cage of his primal nature, rattled as he thoughts lingered one why he was here. Why he measured wall to wall and surveyed basement and second floor with critical eye.
If he had asked it, Yransea would have granted him a larger pay for his services, but he could not ask it. He could not ask for more when he gave them less. The Tunnelers did not pay for what aid he gave them, nor did the Holding Houses. His pay was their information. Their pay was his talents to their cause from time to time. For all his duties, obligations, and work, his income had not increased.
His family had and so had their requirements. It meant doing the only thing he could do without giving away who he was in the shadows of dark places. He had to instruct.
A patch of wall gave away like travel bread with the barest hint of pressure. Ewan brushed his hands together and then across his breeches, wrists brushing against the tips of his sheathed daggers. The building needed work, but it had held the most promise. It would take time to be his fully. Some time more to mend it, but he had favors and trade of services he could call in for that.
Compass would have his bargain met, and among Ewan's first students would be a few of the Tunnelers. Beyond that, he did not know, but for all its aged walls and tired floors, the building welcomed him as any dark place had habit of doing.
The call to move fell upon him, and drawing his blades from the cross sheathes on his back, he walked through the call of the edge, the shadow dance of a fighter, his opponent only himself in patience, strength, and trust.
The rough of his hand ran down one of the old support beams, a layer of days of neglect dusted down like starfall in the golden light from the front windows. A grumble, the cage of his primal nature, rattled as he thoughts lingered one why he was here. Why he measured wall to wall and surveyed basement and second floor with critical eye.
If he had asked it, Yransea would have granted him a larger pay for his services, but he could not ask it. He could not ask for more when he gave them less. The Tunnelers did not pay for what aid he gave them, nor did the Holding Houses. His pay was their information. Their pay was his talents to their cause from time to time. For all his duties, obligations, and work, his income had not increased.
His family had and so had their requirements. It meant doing the only thing he could do without giving away who he was in the shadows of dark places. He had to instruct.
A patch of wall gave away like travel bread with the barest hint of pressure. Ewan brushed his hands together and then across his breeches, wrists brushing against the tips of his sheathed daggers. The building needed work, but it had held the most promise. It would take time to be his fully. Some time more to mend it, but he had favors and trade of services he could call in for that.
Compass would have his bargain met, and among Ewan's first students would be a few of the Tunnelers. Beyond that, he did not know, but for all its aged walls and tired floors, the building welcomed him as any dark place had habit of doing.
The call to move fell upon him, and drawing his blades from the cross sheathes on his back, he walked through the call of the edge, the shadow dance of a fighter, his opponent only himself in patience, strength, and trust.