Damian was late and that was weird. He had agreed to meet at dawn in Mecorton a day and a half ago. Silvester checked his satchel again he had the hide, he checked his quiver next all his arrows were there, he resigned himself to another day of waiting and headed towards the tavern to look for something to eat.

In the tavern he practiced while his food was being prepared. He kept his hands under the table, wary of wandering eyes. Even with one old man in the corner and a bartender he didn’t want to cause alarm. He whispered the phrase he knew in portions. And all the while he thought, thought of how much longer it had taken to hunt this time than the last. Thought of the battle the inquisition had forced on Runeheim. Thought of his parents and how they had died.

In his rumination Silvester missed the door creak open, missed a figure in black pause in the threshold and looked around, eyes finally landing on him. Missed the figure across the room to stand directly in front of him. It wasn’t until the scrape of the chair that accompanied an accusing voice asking “are you practicing?” Silvester looked up, shaking himself from his thoughts, and his hands faltered for the first time since he started. “Yeah, yeah I am. And you’re late.”

Damian was here and he could finally leave. Damian surveyed the tavern, “Where are Pablo and Onson?” “They had something else to port and couldn’t wait until you showed up. They left this morning.”

They talked some as Silvester ate. When he finished they left some copper on the table and headed out it was time to rejoin the Porters.