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Looking back at his visit to Krasia, Arlen realized that it wasn’t as nanimous as he had believed Whatever he had told hihter ao down in the histories as the ht

As the Deliverer, even?

The thought disturbed hi, for it to last, it had to come from everyone, not just one man

But did humanity even want to be saved? Did they deserve it? Arlen didn’t know anyht, content to hide behind wards, and what he had seen in Krasia, what he no in himself, made Arlen wonder about those who had not

There could never be peace between Arlen and the corelings He knew in his heart he could never sit safe behind his wards and let them dance in peace now that he had another choice But ould stand by his side and fight? Jeph had struck him at the idea Elissa had scolded him Mery had shunned hiht he had seen Jeph watch his wife be cored from the safety of his porch wards, Arlen had known that the corelings’ greatest weapon was fear What he hadn’t understood was that fear took many forms For all his atte alone He wanted soht with, and for

But there was no one He saw that now If he wanted companionship, he would have to slink back to the cities and accept it on their terht, he had to do it alone

The sense of power and elation, so fresh in hishis knees, and stared out over the desert, looking for a road where there was none

Arlen rose with the sun and padded to the pool to rinse his wounds He had stitched and poulticed the down, but one could never be too careful ounds fro As he splashed the cool water on his face, his tattoo caught his eye

All Messengers had tattoos, in It was a symbol of how far they had traveled Arlen reen showed hi of Miln Arlen had et that same tattoo when he completed his first job He went to a tattooist, ready to be er, but he had hesitated Fort Miln was home to him in many ways, but it was not where he had co, so Arlen took the crest of Earl Tibbet himself, lush fields split by a stream that fed a small lake The tattooist took his needles and imprinted that reminder of home on Arlen’s shoulder for all tiered in Arlen’s mind He had watched the tattooist closely The man’s art was not so different froly placed with no room for error There were needles in Arlen’s herb pouch, and ink in his warding kit

Arlen started a s every h the flames, and poured a bit of thick, viscous ink into a small bowl He wrapped thread about the needles to prevent the too deeply, and carefully studied the contours of his left hand, noticing every wrinkle and shift as it flexed When he was ready, he took a needle, dipped it in the ink, and set to work

It was slow going He was forced to pause frequently to wipe his pal but tih, so he worked with care, his hand steady ByHe poulticed the hand and wrapped it carefully, then went about replenishing the oasis’ stores He worked hard the rest of the day, and the day after that, knowing that he would need as much as he could carry before he left

Arlen re his skin in thefood in the afternoons The tattoos on his pal the skinned knuckles fro the sand de only for the scabs on his right to fall away before he did those as well No coreling would ever shrug away one of his punches again