Alweard sat in the shade of a tree, hidden behind a curtain of willow-fronds. The rush of the nearby stream swallowed up the scratching of his quill as an image took shape: first the contours of cheek and jaw, then the curve of a skull, the bristled edge of a beard. He drew fine lines with a gentle touch, just as familiar to his eye as the lines of his own palm. With the addition of a crease at the corner of his mouth, it was finished.
Frowning at the drawing, Alweard set his book aside carefully, the pages still open so it might dry in the heat. He knew that Wrecca would have looked on in scorn if he saw it. Apprehension tightened its grip on his chest, no easier to ignore than a leaden chain.
He peeked out between the willow branches, scanning the riverbank for unfamiliar shapes before crawling out on his belly. Nothing moved on the other side of the river - nothing but a single frog, which hopped from the water and into the thick summer air. As he peered into the water, a face both familiar and not peered back - pale, wan, framed in long dark hair. From the corner of his eye, the reflection could have been a stranger’s. Yet as he drew back from the light, he caught a glimpse of himself in one glittering moment.
[ all art by me, Alweard's player. ]
