It is time to have another visit to Mejaran.
You likely know the drill by now. If not, click the link and get drilled.
Er, something like that.
This afternoon my parents were kind and generous enough to treat myself and Kat to a couples massage at one of the local spas. It was much needed (I haven't had a massage in years) and much appreciated.
Anyway, back to the village. I felt like, now that we're past the halfway point, it might be time to kick things up a notch. Or two.
On the fourth day of rain crowds gathered at both bridges in the village, each of which had somehow survived unscathed to that point. East and West Mejaran were well represented by those safeguarding the links between each side, though not all were motivated by the purest of intentions.
Some villagers just wanted to make sure that the other side of the river did not seem more eager than theirs to keep the bridges intact.
Few words were spoken by the sodden men and women gathered there; even fewer were shared between those from opposite banks. Though, inevitably, as the day wore on, the rain refused to relent, and tempers worsened, that began to change.
Yarel didn't hear the exchange that broke the levee at the north bridge. So when he was asked what happened afterward he was unable to point an accurate finger at the instigators. Though, truth be told, even if he had born witness to the initial confrontation he would have been hard pressed to remember any of the details.
For in the minutes that followed he was far too preoccupied with simply staying alive amidst the chaos.
He could, however, be trusted to know one piece of information, as the image was seared into his nightmares after dusk and lurked in shadows past dawn for many years to come.
Azmar's sword was the first to draw blood.