Ewan stood upon the deck of the ship near the mizzen mast, one hand gripping the railing and the other upon the cane. The crew of the Yran Lark made no mention of his condition, but it stung deep inside him all the same.

Not long ago he would have been up the rigging and working the lines with the rest of the crew feeling alive and rejoicing in the spray of salty sea and the smell of the air. Now he shifted tremulously like a famine weakened man with every gentle pitch and roll of the deck. The strain upon his legs walking along was improving each day, but this journey was the test and its outcome soured his expression.

It was not that alone that churned bitterness in his thoughts once again whole and within his control. He pushed at the railing and tried to walk gracefully across the deck to his berth but failed every third step or so to keep at pace. It was in high ill humor that he reached the door and yanked it open, shutting it brutally behind him and dropped onto the small bunk. The darkness of the inner cabin was only mildly comforting in it kept sympathetic glances from their watch. But his thoughts came ever more forcibly to the front of his mind.

Storm would not be waiting for him on his return. That came blazing upwards to start the battle afresh. He had pushed her away so cruelly. A belief in protecting her, or was it protecting himself. The debate rose in point and counterpoint until it became a fit that brought his fist up and punched the boards above his head. Weakness of muscles spared any damage to board or bone in the effort, but the lingering pain of his stubbornness to protect others against their will got another coat of duty layered over it as an oyster coats an irritating grain of sand.

Finally Ewan had a morning to himself. The days of training with Gaerwyn were to turn into night, and he was not meant to meet with Kiema until mid afternoon. So it was at the beginning heat of the day that he walked into the bustle of the Marketplace and turned to enter a well appointed shop.

The store keeper was busy with another customer, but gave a nod to his new customer, motioning that he would be just a moment. Ewan raised a hand in turn for the man to relax. Afterall, he still did not know exactly what he was wanting to buy. Eyes as green as fresh moss on a stone roamed over the wares as he walked somberly by the options with his hands clasped behind him. Heel to toe he stepped and his pace never faltered until he finally stopped.

There on the far wall of the shop hung a wooden frame of suitably simple carving in shapes of leaves in the corners and vines upon the edges. The picture it framed was a lovely pastoral scene where a fish lept out of a sky blue lake and among the trees a bird with radiant plummage spread its wings as if ready to fly.

Ewan moved toward it just as the shop keeper came up to him, "Oh that's a fine piece you have eyed there, sir. The artist is a resident of the city and we are often graced with one of kind works from her."

A congenial smile offered the shop keep, but Ewan considered the appropriateness of the gift. The shop keep continued, "I can have it delivered for you."

Ewan ignored the suggestion and instead indicated, "Have that and that delivered. I shall provide the address." But his eyes drifted back to the picture.

The business concluded with payment and instructions, Ewan departed the shop and went on about his duties. By midafternoon while Ewan spoke with Kiema about what had happened, to Storm's new residence were delivered two parcels. One a mirror with mosaic tiles of burnt reds and sienna in radiant starbursts to create the frame. The other package a small sailing ship meant to let a boy explore the seas in his imagination. A simple note left attached to the mirror said simply in the shop keep's handwriting, "Congratulations on your new home. All the best."

At Yearling Brook manor a wrapped package about the size and shape of a framed picture was delivered and set unwrapped in the windowless room of the Master of Arms.

A hesitation at the corner of a building on the far northern border of the town brought the sounds of fighting to Ewan?s hearing. It was a disturbing exchange of words in hissed partial syllables. He waited.

The barest consideration for his arms, lacking bracers from damage gained a few nights past. He had others, but had not considered their use for their fit was poor. It would be some days before he had a new pair, and in light of that fact, he had kept from engaging in some of his more reckless acts of vigilantism. Those forays had been more for training anyway to regain his strength and agility. All he did prepared him for his vengeance on the Sedaral, and of all places for a training ground, the chaotic mire of wickedness that was Rhydin proved perfect for his purpose.

Ewan checked the long knives at his belt. The twin blades slid easily out and back in the sheath without catching, and he felt comfortable with the feel. In practice he worked with the duel long swords against the recruits and veterans of Yransea guards. At night, he kept his armaments to close conflict, and the knives were more easily maneuvered.

The crash of a crate, its distinctive splintering sound, and the painful grunt that coincided brought Ewan from his hiding place. He light-stepped along the building edge and crouched low against the fence line of one of the first farming homesteads found on the northern outskirts before forest took over the land. Words of the argument grew clearer as he neared and huddled close to the shadows of a tall oak that snuggled the fence.

?I won?t have it, Adam. You promised me full payment for my loan two weeks ago. I need that money.?

?Can?t draw blood from a stone, Bert,? the injured man, Adam, wheezed and Ewan saw his defiant grin in the lamps? light flinging twin circles of honey yellow light on the ground outside of the barn.

?Think not? Places around here will buy blood. Can use it, you know. Could sell you myself and get coin enough to pay me back.? Bert spat and the glare in his dark eyes could be seen even from Ewan?s position. That man made no idle threat.

It was a personal exchange though, and while Ewan had some semblance for right and wrong, the power of it here was translucent at best. Still, he stood from his hiding place and rested his arms on the top of the fence.

Bert had the sense to look a little unnerved at Ewan?s sudden appearance, but Adam thought he had found a savior and started to present more pain than he had before. ?What business do you have, sir?? Bert called.

?Just an idle suggestion. As much as I know it would give you some sense of satisfaction to drag this man?s wailing sorry arse to a slaver?s auction, it will be a fleeting joy at best.?

Bert snickered as if he doubted that. ?And you have a better idea, then, for this man what reneged on a deal made in good faith??

?Have you proof of this deal? Papers or witnesses?? Ewan stepped through the fence and approached the men. Adam had slowly regained his footing, but he stood with an arm wrapped around his middle probably where the blow of the crate had hit him.

?Aye, that I do.?

?The courts are not all dishonest. Take your case before them, or if you?ve a liege you swear to, take the matter up with him or her. Leave the blood letting to those who have a taste for it.?

Bert thought on the possibilities as Ewan turned from the men with a disgusted realization he was disappointed at not blooding his blades. The words of the men behind him were not actually heard, though the tone had changed enough for him not to worry. No, his worry was on his own thoughts. He had come so close to just handing Bert a blade and giving him tips on how to blood Adam most effectively for the sale of the man?s life contents.

Ewan let out a slow breath and rose up from that darkness a moment. It had almost caught him.