They were on us before we had a chance to defend ourselves. Before it was over both horses were dead and my scimitar and shield were buried and unrecoverable. The only thing that saved us was Ariana’s skill with a bow … and the fact that when I tripped over my robes, the corpse of my horse distracted the remaining juvenile ant long enough for Ariana to put an arrow in it.

Ariana and I healed one another, but no healing spell could repair our pride … or the complaining that I had to put up with because now Ariana had to tromp through the sand. Though I had trouble hearing it, after a couple of days I finally heard bits and pieces of a mantra that she sang as she walked. It was none too flattering, and I think there were parts about shooting me in the ass with an arrow, but I can’t be sure.

I think she was just bitter. Hopefully. Needless to say, until we arrived at the caravan and joined up with the rest of the party, we (especially me … making sure I didn’t spend too much time with my backside facing Ariana) were a bit more vigilant.

All I have of my heritage or background is a small tattoo on my forearm. With all of the people that I’ve talked and southern traveling I’ve done, I have never heard anything about the meaning of this symbol. 

So north is the way for me. Maybe there I will find the answers I seek, the answer to the one question that defines me.

Who am I?

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