The rain pounded onto the squire’s head. Reflexively, he pulled up his hood.
He had come home against all advice. Ignoring the words of his fellows, his knight, and his lord he had stolen away in the night. Stolen away with a stolen sword.
It was his master’s second-best sword.
Thinking, It can’t be as bad as the tales say. Gilead is my home — surely my father and sister survived the..the darkness, his path had brought him here.
And now, past rain and blood, past the grasp of the dead, and the mad words of a blind priest, he was home. Jonas peered up through the rain at the moon. He’d been in town only an hour or two. Such a short time.
It wasn’t too late to leave. Keeping his wits about him, he could easily avoid the once-men as before and make his way out of town. The green light in the keep’s windows leered at him.
No. It was too late. The shadow on Gilead has marked him, there was no turning back.
Jonas cupped his hand and caught rain water. He briskly scrubbed the blood from his cloak, face and hands. The words of the blank-faced priest were not cleansed as easily.
The squire stood, and sheathed the sword. I must find some place dry, and give it a proper cleaning, or it will rust.
The rain began to ease, as Jonas moved across the balcony towards a nearby rooftop. A short jump, and he was across. His answers were in the keep, and he intended to have them.