Haunted Forest
"Right, that's the last one," Dolorous Edd groans as Jon helps him drag and strap the sentinel log onto the sledge. With a whistle, the mule rider pulls it towards the Wall and back to Castle Black. "Gods, how many more do we have?"
"About a dozen," Jon answers, "of the cut ones, I mean. The rest, well, just look at the forest." Though the Lord Commander ordered the border of the haunted forest to be cut back by half a mile, all the week's work they've done only moved it back by less than a quarter. The reason is obvious: there are not enough men in the Night's Watch. It's a far cry from the ten-thousand of Aegon's reign, making this simple task a lot more challenging.
Edd ties a rope for the next log before he goes complaining. "We'll be here for a month at this rate."
"It's important work," Jon adds. "The dead hides under the trees, and it's harder to hit them with arrows if branches are in the away."
"Our bows don't even reach this far… You know what, I blame the recruiters for this. All those stories of honour and glory of being a ranger, they robbed all the stonemasons and woodcutters and hard-working men of the dream of becoming a builder. Right where they belong…"
"Uncle Benjen i- WAS a ranger," Jon cuts himself short.
"And look what good it did to him," Edd cackles, his voice sharp with derision. "Ah, all the rangers do is go out into the cold and die. Might as well offer the Others our firstborns if we're at it, forcing them to kill their fellow Brothers. Why do we have to respect the dead when they don't do the same? Help me, will you?"
The two drag the log onto the awaiting pile, ready to be carried off. All this work does no good to Jon's wounds, especially with his now stiff left arm. In truth, this is the most manual labour he has ever done in his entire life; nothing in Winterfell ever involved him dragging so much stuff. "So," he wipes his forehead from sweat, "why didn't you become a ranger?"
"Are you deaf? They die! You know, the recruiter told me that ladies and maidens alike love men in black. By the Seven, I was foolish back then. Now, the only women who'll compliment me need to be paid first, so I might as well choose to be a steward. Much closer to Mole's Town." Edd cracks his back before turning to a riding ranger stabbing his spear into the snow. "Oy Giant! Got any bodies for us?"
Jon recognises Giant, or Bedwyck, simply from his very short stature. He's well-liked by new recruits for he often eats at their table, telling japes and stories about the Watch. But now the man's aged face hardens to a scowl, spitting into the snow before thrusting his spear down. His torch burns bright on this cloudy day. "Ain't got nothin'. Boy, you sure there were wights 'ere?"
"Must be," Jon answers. "The three bodies were found in the snow, and the dead animals must have hid somewhere."
"Right…" the ranger huffs before turning his horse. "Deeper into the woods it is, then."
"Careful now," Edd smirks. "Elks and shadowcats are running the place, no need for giants to rip us apart as well." Bedwyck throws snow at their faces before disappearing between the still-standing trees. Edd tuts in disappointment. "Another man for the Others."
"Not if we can help it."
"By cutting down trees? Ah, the dead and the Children do love their trees. You know the tale, right? Of how a dead knight's ghost was appeased by a maiden's offerings of pine cones and sentinel trees?"
That's… "Never heard of that one. Is that a common story in the Vale?"
Edd snorts at the question. "Of course not, green boy!" He pats Jon's back, causing him to wince. "Still, all that wood is useful for bonfires… Chance maybe we break bread and salt with the Others over an open flame. Perhaps they respect the living more than the dead, hah!"
"I doubt it…"
The two soon go back to work, with Edd helping to chop the trees while Jon uses Longclaw to trim its branches; a sad use for a Valyrian steel sword, but he can't wield axes all that well. Yet dread still follows closely as he gathers up the cut wood: where are the wights? Do those things just disappear like snow? No, of course not. We still have one other corpse back at Castle Black. It doesn't move, but…
Not wanting to wait for the other rangers, he whistles and Ghost comes out of the woods. The direwolf looks at him with wide, bright eyes as Jon gives him a command: "can you sniff out bodies under the snow?"
Ghost does a little wag of the tail before sprinting off. Jon gives chase, causing Edd to grumble something about Lordly children before following him as well. "This better be good, Snow."
Ghost sniffs around a few groves and trees before stopping near a bare oak tree. A familiar sharp scent enters his nose. "Smell that?"
"I smell snow, sweat, and ice," Edd shrugs. "I need a bath."
So he can't sense it… Am I smelling from Ghost's nose then? Is that it? A strange thought, but not one he can so easily discredit. And he can feel even more as Ghost digs up the snow and bites into something bitter. I should ask Maester Aemon or Lady Ran, maybe they know what it is. "Got something for us?"
The direwolf pulls out the stiff carcass of a mountain goat, its fur falling apart between his teeth. For a moment Jon thought Ghost has found himself a morsel, but then he remembers that the Frostfangs are leagues away from here. And those blue eyes! He quickly brings Longclaw down, cutting the carcass in two. Its sudden burst of movement surprises Edd but Jon hacks it up before it can do anything.
As Ghost goes to eat its cold flesh, Edd gives him a wary smile. This won't be the only one.
Soon they abandon the task of cutting wood and instead join the other rangers to search for bodies; Edd says it's a builder's job anyway, not rangers' nor stewards'. With the help of the direwolf, they manage to dig up dozens of bodies before noon. Mostly wolves, shadowcats, and a few smaller elks and deer. None of them the Jiang-Shi, he notes. And watching Ghost eating the thighs of deer and shadowcats makes Jon's mouth water, much to his disgust.
Luckily for them, the Lord Commander always sent cooks with food down to the haunted forest, and this time is no different. As Hake provides them with stews of salted beef and onions, the rangers and builders sit on the stumps of fallen trees. "Is it me or is the meat going grey?" asks Edd.
"It's still good, Tollett. But it ain't enough for that damn dog," Hake chuckles, pointing his wet ladle to Ghost.
"That damn dog is better than some rangers I know," Edd smirks.
"Hey!"
"He might as well be a Brother of the Night's Watch. What do you say to that, Snow?"
"Doubt he can keep the vows, let alone speak," Jon smiles, finishing his meal quickly and handing back his empty bowl. Ghost is too busy gnawing on a leg bone to care. "But since he's my direwolf, in essence he's already a Brother."
"That'd be a sight, a wolf wielding a shield and sword," Bedwyck laughs.
"Weren't you here a week ago? You saw the she-wolf the young Lord Stark with, right? A bitch with a sharp bite, that one," says Pyp.
"Aye, the young wolf's a lucky man," all the Brothers laugh, but Jon gives a dry one. A lucky man… Lord of Winterfell, a Lady by his side, and now I'm stuck here at the Wall, he sighs. Now… Now he's quite resigned to his fate. Even with all that grievances, the thought of disappointing his father by breaking his vows is not something he wants to think about. Then again I've dappled into taboo things… If Arya knows what I'm doing here, what will she think of me? Would she still see me as an older brother?
Edd seems to notice Jon's sour expression because he quickly changes the subject. "Speaking of Ladies, what in the Seven hells is Lady Ran doing?"
They all look at where he's pointing. At the top of a tall sentinel tree is none other than Lady Ran, standing over them all like a Lord in his tower. Jon notices the wooden staffs she holds by her many tails; he helped her carve them a few days ago, a type of warding sorcery if he remembers correctly. Which makes sense as he watches her attach one of them to the tree before flying off, like a golden snowflake in the wind.
Though Jon has seen this more than a dozen times now, the awe has yet to wear off. After all, all the tales and Maester Luwin's explanations have told him that all creatures require wings to fly: from birds to bees to dragons. Yet here she is, a woman who has none but can soar into the air. I even heard that Lady Reimu is a better flyer than her, if she ever gets out of bed. Yet she says that I may not be able to…
"Close your mouth or you'll catch weasels," says Edd.
"First time seein' a woman fly," Bedwyck whispers, picking up his dropped bowl.
"First time seeing anyone flying!" Hake exclaims "I wish I can fly, then at least the trip to Mole's Town could be quicker."
"There's more to flight than just impressing whores, you know. I for one would use it to leave you in the snow when the Others attack," Edd jests, earning him a jab from the cook. The two laugh before the man's smirking face turns to Jon. "Care to explain what she's doing, Snow?"
Jon gives the older man a wary look. "Why are you asking me?"
"Ah, it's simple: you're the Old Bear's steward! They say men in that position are the first to hear, first to act, and first to die. He must have talked lots with you, or at least you would have heard of him speaking of such matters. After all, I doubt she would be doing… Whatever that is without his leave."
"I mean, she could," Bedwyck shrugs.
"Not the point, Giant. So…" Edd leans forward. All the others are also waiting expectantly for Jon's answer.
A bit of a problem for him since he's unsure if the fact he's training in magic should be kept a secret. The matters of his Uncle was decided by the Lord Commander and Maester Aemon, but not much counsel was given to his other magical training; he was only approved of them. Then again, if I speak the truth the others would laugh.
"Your silence is telling, Snow," Alan of Rosby pipes up, broth dripping from his thin beard. "Don't tell me you've broken your vows already!"
Warmth creeps up his cheeks. "Did not!"
"Eh, most of us 'ave gone to Mole's Town," says Bedwyck. "Old Bear won't mind a bit of whores now and then. Ever got your wick wet before coming here, boy?" Jon shakes his head, causing a bit of surprise among the men. "Really? Well, thought a Lord's boy be popular 'fore coming 'ere."
"I don't want to sire bastards," Jon declares. I know what it's like to live as one.
"No fun," Alan laughs. "You know, if the Old Bear wasn't hawking over them, I'd gone and see if the vixen would squeal like a real one in bed. A lot of highborn ladies are screamers, and I tell that from experience."
"Alan, I think-"
"Oh come on, I know that you've thought about it, Edd, even just a little," he prods the man's knee with his spoon. Cold sweat drips down Jon's back as he sees a familiar fox-eared figure approaching them.
"Well, can't say that, but I think-"
"What, you wouldn't want to bed someone as gorgeous as her? Surely you jest," he chuckles, though the others don't join in as they shift awkwardly on their seats. "And by the Seven, the clothing they picked up from Mole's Town fits her far too well. A knight would kill to have her hand I can tell you that."
"…Alan," Edd motions with his head.
"What? You guys being silent are ju- OH FUCK!" he drops his bowl upon seeing the woman standing behind him. Lady Ran stands tall over them, her smile sharp and eyes glinting gold in the afternoon sun. Jon knows her enough that something more is hidden beneath that visage. "Gods, L-Lady Ran!" he stands up, brushing off the spilt stew from his black breeches. "I am so, so-"
"No need to apologise," she says quite sweetly. "Your compliments about my clothes do give me something to think about. Instead, care to help a lady out in her task?" her smile grows wider. A cold shiver runs down Jon's spine and even Ghost backs away.
"A-Anything! Of course!"
"Good. Now…" Her many tails quickly wrap around Alan, causing the man to yelp as it turns him in a certain direction. The only thing that comes to Jon's mind is a kraken, not a fox at all. She then points deep into the forest. "Do you see that tree, standing tall among the rest?"
"Y-Yes," he struggles to speak out. Edd and the others stand back in fear.
"What I want you to do is to plant this," she stabs one of her staffs into the ground, "on top of that tree. I'm quite tired and this is the last one, so would you mind placing it for me?"
"Of course not, Lady Ran!"
"Good." She lets him go before pushing him onto the staff. He stares back in confusion. "GO." And with a single word, the ranger scurries off to his horse and into the forest, far too eager to complete the task. After watching the man ride off, Lady Ran sighs and her tails relax. She turns to the others and asks: "do any of you want to climb a tree?"
They all shake their heads.
Acknowledging the answer, she takes a bowl from Hake's shaky hands and sits where Alan was before. It takes until she finishes the bowl for someone to finally break the silence. "Um," Pyp pipes up, "what were those wooden poles for?"
"Wards," she answers simply. From the looks of it, she's too annoyed to explain further. So instead, Jon takes it upon himself to clear the air.
"Lady Ran and I have been working on objects that would repel wights and Jangsi-"
"JIANG-SHI," she corrects him.
"Sorry, yes, Jiang-Shi."
"So… Perhaps I'm missing something here, but how does a piece of wood ward off the dead?" asks Edd. "Even spears, I think, rely on being held. Unless you mean the trees come alive..."
"They're uhh… Sorcery," Jon adds. "Magic."
"Magic?"
"Magic."
"Magic…" Edd leans his head back, tapping his feet on the snow. "Makes sense."
"Edd, pray tell how does that make sense?" Bedwyck whispers.
"She can fly, so I have no doubts about magic and maybe even stranger things. But what I have doubts about is the fact that you," he points to Jon, "are helping her. You could barely hold an axe and yet you claim to practice sorcery?"
"The boy is a fast learner," says Lady Ran. "Care to show them?"
I guess it's not a secret then, he sighs before pulling the sheaves of paper from his pocket. All the ink and scribbles he made himself; she claims that using your own power to create your tools will make them quite effective. That and to pray to the Old Gods, she said. "Anyone wants to be a target? Doesn't hurt… Much."
"Eh, I'll go." Bedwyck stands before him, the man's head barely reaching Jon's nose. "C'mon boy, do your mummer's farce."
"Oh, it isn't a mummer's farce," he smirks. With a quick blow on the paper and a flick of the finger, the topmost tag flies off and wraps itself around the Giant's right hand.
Though initially startled, the man then begins laughing. "That's it?"
"Try and move your arm."
"I can move my- Wait." He looks at his arm, stiff as a board and not budging. "Oh."
"Jon, try it on me!" says Edd, holding out his left arm. Jon flicks the pile again and the paper wraps around him. The arm quickly goes limp, earning a hearty chuckle from the man. "This is… Incredibly strange. This is magic!?"
"That and many more," says Lady Ran, her tails squirming behind her. "Jon Snow here has trained under my guidance, though he's nowhere near perfect like Miss Reimu."
"Aye," Jon replies, shaking his now tired right hand. That always happens whenever he does the paper flicks; using magic drains his strength by quite a bit.
"Those paper tags can have many different functions: to restrict, to control, to burn, to kill," she grins, sharp canines poking out of her smile. "So, are any of you interested in sorcery?"
The Wall
"This is foolish," Alliser spits, glaring at the Brothers in the training yard from the open window of the Lord Commander's tower. "This is madness! Why is she allowed to conduct a mummer's show in Castle Black!?"
"Now now, Ser Alliser," Maester Aemon sips from his cup of steaming tea. The sweet scent of warm honey fills the air. "This training was put forward and approved before the Lord Commander's judgement. If he says so, then I see no reasons to argue."
"I do. If only you could see what's happening down there, Maester Aemon." The sight upsets him. As a knight of House Thorne, it took him some time to earn the position of master-at-arms of Castle Black. He takes pride in this, making sure that the greenboys and fools the Watch recruits know who's in charge and to lay their lives on the line.
But here he is, watching his work be undone. By a woman, no less.
Those recruits he drilled so hard with swordsmanship have instead taken slips of paper as weapons. Papers. Madness, like a bunch of maidens throwing garlands at the Others. By the Seven, the Watch is becoming an embarrassment.
"Try not to grind your teeth," the maester lets out a raspy chuckle. "That's your last set, after all, and I'm sure you wouldn't want wood ones. Tarly, another cup please."
"Yes, Maester Aemon," replies the fat tub of lard as he refills the drink. A glare from Alliser sends the boy quaking in his boots like jelly.
Pathetic. "Ser Piggy, care to explain why you're not in the training yard? Or is throwing paper too much for that soft arms of yours?"
"N-No, Ser Alliser, Ser," he stutters out, face pale like pie. "I am M-Maester Aemon's steward, so I must remain by his side. A-And, um," he lowers his head, "I… Didn't pass the initial test."
Alliser guffaws at the boy's answer, his voice sharp like an old black crow. "So you weren't good enough. Too weak to throw scraps of paper," he steps forward, causing Sam to back away in fear. "It's a wonder that you've been accepted to the Watch; I would have sent you back to your bloody father in the Reach, let them deal with you rightly," he smirks, causing the fat boy to shiver. Ser Piggy, what a load of-
"Sam," the maester cuts through his thoughts, "I'm feeling a bit peckish right now. Mind fetching me some stew from the mess hall? And a bit of bread as well."
"Y-Yes, Maester Aemon," he bows his head before quickly rushing off, all too eager to get away from the master-at-arms.
Now alone, the old man calmly taps his blackthorn cane against the wooden floor. His face is everything but happy. "You know," he begins, "I quite like my current steward. A craven, yes, but most boys are when coming to the Wall. Besides, unlike Chett he can read, better than even Clydas. Certainly makes managing books that much easier."
"Chett can't read but the man can fight," Alliser replies. "Unlike the Tarly boy, he can hold a sword proper and protect you if things go awry. But that boy, the cold will eat him alive before Winter comes."
"Then perhaps you should train him better," the maester's lips form a thin smile. Though blind, the old man seems aware of Alliser's expressions. "The cold will harden most men, and I have no doubts the Tarly would be the same."
"The cold would tear through paper before it could even touch steel, Maester Aemon. It's a fool's errand to teach these recruits sorcery when most don't even know how to wield steel."
"Then train them better," the maester chuckles, earning a scowl from Alliser Thorne. "If the boys forget how to hold steel after wielding paper, is it not the fault of their teacher for not drilling it enough? You'll find no compatriot for detesting magic in me, Ser Alliser. Unlike most maesters, I for one have certain interests in the strange," he says, tugging on his chain collar. Alliser notes one of the links having the signature shine of Valyrian steel. "Perhaps you'll find a like mind in the Lord Commander. Speaking of which…"
The solar door opens and the Lord Commander strides into the room, a basket of fresh bread in one hand and a greying raven on his shoulder. The bird looks almost as old as the owner, yet nowhere near as sharp or as large. "Ah, Maester Aemon. Care for some fresh bread? Hake just baked this one."
"No thank you, I've eaten breakfast already."
"Bread!" the raven caws, jumping off the man's shoulder and onto the table. "Bread! Bread!"
"Alright, stop your yammering," the Lord Commander groans before seating himself and throwing the bird a piece of bread. It eats it happily. Smiling at the sight, he then turns to the master-at-arms. "Ser Alliser, not often do I see you here."
"Lord Commander," he bows his head, "I want to voice concerns regarding the training happening in the yard right now."
"Problem with the swords?"
"No, the other one."
"Ah, the sorcery training you mean." The Lord Commander looks pensive for a moment before pulling out a few sheets of paper from a shelf. The man starts writing and…
Is the Lord Commander ignoring me? "May I voice it?"
The man sighs before putting down his quill. "This training has only been conducted for a few days, Ser Alliser. Only fifty are attending it as many others are still apprehensive of both her and sorcery. Though some interesting things are coming out of it, I do recommend waiting until the results bear fruit for criticisms of its effectiveness. Besides," he taps the table, "it's unlike anything we've ever done at the Night's Watch. There's bound to be a few mistakes here and there, but anything that may give us an edge over the Others is appreciated. Our enemies are not men."
"So that's it? You're letting this woman ruin all the training I've done for them with scraps of paper?"
"Scraps? Oh no, the woman never wanted scraps," he laughs. "Always clean paper or parchment. Let's see… She calculated by herself the amount of paper needed to arm the men at Castle Black; simply a lot. That's going to hit our coffers," he sighs, "but we can do things to remedy that. She also estimated the number of people that might be proficient enough to wield sorcery at the Wall, amounting to about two hundred. A small number but certainly not bad, though she never wrote down her calculations."
"I asked her to run the numbers again and they are quite accurate," says Maester Aemon. "She wields such a strange mind in that head of hers, but certainly impressive. Complex arithmetics and counting can't be so easily done in your head; trust me, I've done it. No wonder she holds fantastical knowledge an understanding of magic. An old friend of mine at the Citadel would certainly enjoy discussing such things with her; she makes for great company after all."
Alliser silently curses the two of them but keeps his face neutral. People often say that wisdom grows with age, but he feels as if surrounded by fools at all sides here. Age has made them soft, he realises, so much that they're dappling in this blasphemous and dangerous act. To think I hold them in such high esteem… "So she… Appealed for your support by promising to kill the Others?"
"To ward off the wights and Jangsi from the Wall to be exact, though my steward's push did help me to approve her training regiment."
Steward… SNOW. His face scrunches up to something fierce. The bastard insulted him in the training yard, took away the recruits he was training, and now plans to turn them to mummers. Perhaps the boy is even planning to take his place as the master-at-arms. That. That he absolutely won't stand. "Thank you for the information, Lord Commander. I shall take my leave."
"Any time."
Alliser stomps down the spiral staircase, huffing at the prospect of confronting the bastard. You think of yourself so highly to undermine my authority, boy? I'll show you what happens to- "GAH!" He collides with Aemon's steward, spilling the broth all over his clean clothes. Alliser spits at the fat boy's breeches. "Watch where you're going!"
"S-Sorry Ser!" he stammers before running up the stairs.
"Pig."
Exiting the tower, he's soon greeted by the glare of sunlight coming from the Wall. He squints his eyes before strolling up to the training recruits, most of which make way for him. At least some understand who's in charge.
Now up close, the state of the yard angers him even more. The dummies made for target and sword practice are now covered with pieces of paper; who's going to clean that up? Several men sit around painting empty sheets with black ink, making him think of children rather than fellow Brothers. But worst of all are the veterans participating: Whiteye, the Black Jack, and even Clydas are throwing paper. He would've thought that they understand how useless all of this is, but turns out he's mistaken. Alliser grips the hilt of his sword. "Disappointments," he whispers, "all of them."
Nonetheless, he's here for someone. Throwing paper at the far end of the yard is none other than Jon Snow, his dog and the fox woman by his side. He walks towards them, head high with his shadow draping over the boy. "Ah, Ser Alliser," the woman greets him, "interested in the training?"
"I know what you're doing, Snow," he growls, jabbing his finger to the bastard's chest. "Don't think I'm blind like Aemon or soft like the Old Bear."
"Ser Alliser, I'm just training," the bastard replies. He sees a small smirk on the boy's cheeks, no doubt not taking the master-at-arms' words seriously.
"Is this what you consider training?" he gestures to the dummies and idiots covered in paper. "I hardly believe that your father is Lord Eddard Stark when his son is this weak." The boy's eyes twitch and Alliser smirks in response before pressing further. "You gave yourself to the Watch, boy, but I've seen nought improvements from you. The man who trained you back at Winterfell must be some poor man's excuse for a knight."
"I will NOT have you insult Ser Rodrik," the bastard spits into the snow, fire in his eyes. But the master-at-arms knows how to snuff it out. "What do you want with me? Else just leave me be."
"Prove to me that you are what you say you are, Lord Snow," he sneers. "You want to be a ranger like your dead Uncle, yet I don't see a fragment of him in you. If you refuse then let it be known that the Lord of Winterfell's half-brother is a fool who'd rather play with ink and paper than a sword. Join your friend Piggy where you belong."
"…Fine. Ghost, stay to the side. I'll deal with this."
Now all the Brothers have stopped their training to watch the two duel. Instead of interfering or trying to stop them, the fox woman simply steps aside and watch. Maester Aemon is right, she is smart. The Auroch fetches them swords and shields, but Alliser notes that the bastard forgoes the latter. Overconfidence, he scoffs. I'll show you why this farce of yours is worthless. "Ready, bastard?"
The boy nods, face hardened as he pulls out slips of paper from his pocket.
"And with that," Dolorous Edd shouts, "BEGIN THE DUEL!"
Alliser moves first, confident that the bastard is not strong enough to hold himself up for long. This will be swift and painful for you, boy! Alliser feints with his shield, making the bastard flinch and allowing him to strike for the boy's stomach. But instead of leather and flesh, it hits nothing, the bastard leaping back from the attack. "Come back you craven!"
"I'm no craven like you," he taunts.
The boy is faster than Alliser would like him to be, but he's not one to acknowledge the bastard's skills. Gritting his teeth, the master-at-arms decides for a different attack. Charging with shield up and sword raised, he lets the boy parry the sword before kicking the bastard down; no shield means no way to properly block. Alliser swings for his chest, but to his surprise the bastard blocks it again. He stomps his foot down in anger and misses the boy's face, hitting the muddy ground instead. Now there's some distance between them again, no doubt a craven tactic. "Bastard!"
"No need to remind me," the boy smirks, wiping the mud off his face. The Brothers around them laugh at the jape, and Alliser notices the Lord Commander smiling as he watches from his tower.
"Dare to make fun of me!" He attacks again, now not caring if the sword will strike the boy's soft head. But before he can swing his right arm goes limp, dropping his sword into the mud. "What," is all he could mutter before the bastard kicks his legs out from under him and rip off the shield. Mud covers his face, adding insult to injury.
"I think that's enough," says the cocky bastard before walking away to his friends, leaving Alliser to be dragged up by the ranger Thoren.
"You alright?" he asks.
Confused, the master-at-arms shrugs him off before looking at his limp right arm. That's when he realises that a piece of paper has wrapped itself around his wrist. "When did that…" Alliser rips it off and watches as the paper burns itself to ash, flying away in a breeze. Sorcery. He can hear their laughter now, jeering at him for being covered in mud and beaten by a piece of paper.
A piece... Of paper...
He storms off, hatred and anger nearly bubbling over him. I will make you regret coming here, bastard!
