#tn1

l'p d wklug zkhho lq pb rzq krxvh. l kdwh, l kdwh, l kdwh. wkhuh'v qrwklqj wkdw jlyhv ph pruh julhi wkdq kdwlqj wkrvh l vkrxog oryh. exw zkhq lw'v "xv" djdlqvw "wkhp", l zloo dozdbv eh d sduw ri "wkhp". l kdwh, l kdwh, l kdwh. brx duh doo wkdw l dvsluh wr eh. l kdwh, l kdwh, l kdwh.

l oryh brx lq d zdb wkdw zloo pdnh pb vwrpdfk vlfn. l kdwh brx. brx duh qr hafhswlrq.

The night had felt much longer, now that the day had crept in. It was as if the sun was moving at an absolute crawl across the sky; it was only morning and yet Emrys felt as though he had been awake for a week. What was meant to be his only kill of the night had irritatingly slipped right through his fingers. He’d spent more hours than he was willing to admit chasing them down in the woods. Either he was losing his edge, or he needed to dedicate more time to sharpening his skills each day. 

Whatever the case, he was exhausted, as evidenced by his soiled garb and tarnished armor. Knights of the city were more often than not pillars of shining silver and gold. At this moment, he knew he looked like he’d lost a fight with a topiary, his cape and coat stained greens and browns, his breastplate scuffed with dirt. He was still picking twigs out of his hair. 

He was looking very much forward to collapsing into bed when a commotion demanded his attention. Peering down the slate-tiled street, he saw a small gathering of curious denizens, and a cage or sorts, inside of which was undoubtedly the figure of another person.