Timir woke up covered in blood not his own. The three Arambans, whose blood it was, lay dead and dismembered around him, their crushed heads and bent armours telling tales of last night. Fighting to keep thoughts of Koru out of his mind, Timir stood up and cleaned himself up with the water in the trough as best he could. There was bloody grime under his fingernails and it caked his hair as well. He would need new clothes soon too. The rags he had worn for the past several weeks had seen better days.

The horse had bolted in the night. He would have to find a new one... right after he found Ugr. Understandably, someone had swiped his big ugly greatsword thinking him dead. This wasn't the first town he had lost it in. It wouldn't be the last.