[maikafanawen]

“Wait! Wait!!” The man ran down the alleyway, with Wren just staring after him, her heart pounding painfully in her chest, mouth slightly open. For a moment, when he turned to run, she got a glimpse of his face, not enough to be sure, but enough to stir recognition. She knew it was impossible, but if it was, why didn’t her heart stop pounding. Seeing that man’s face however, sparked the shred of hope she had, and deep within, she knew Turthôl was alive.

“We should get moving quickly or buy some Harad wear, we’re definitely not wanted here,” said Carmalita coming up and taking her elbow.

“C-Carmalita, th-that was, that w-wasn’t…nevermind.” If it had been him, why did he run? Surely he would have recognized me. Then it definitely wasn’t him…unless… She shook her head and rummaged through her money pouch that hung from her belt. The only thing she had left behind from her usual ensemble was her lute. Wren hadn’t played it since the storm, and didn’t feel a need to. She had five gold pennies, ten silver pieces, twenty-five silver pennies, and a hundred plus copper pennies: enough to help Carmalita should she need extra money, and for anything else she might need on her way home.

After Aerin had died, Wren swore that she would live. Now that the terror of death was so real, she feared it less. She had seen it, and refused its offer. It will not have her yet. The noblewoman also swore that she would do all she can to help the others, but wasn’t sure if that counted for much. Her only weapons were her reason and her sword. She was missing one crucial thing: experience. Wren was the only one who lacked it, save for Bregand, but he made up for it with his knowledge.

They found the apothecary close by, and were able to replenish Carmalita’s herbs, but not without remorseful glares and unkind words from some of its loiterers. Soon, they were on their way to the Seer’s house.