[This post is from Thordin’s point of view.]
One of the riders pointed before he’d gone a dozen steps, just as the gates thumped closed behind him. Thordin took a deep breath, trying to look non-threatening as he headed toward Thom, who twisted to look back. The other man blinked at him, a brief frown creasing his forehead before disappearing again. Thom didn’t look stressed, per se, at this distance, but Thordin could tell that he was at least a little unsettled—but hiding it well.
Part of him hoped that Thom was unsettled because of his own sudden appearance, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t the case.
Thom turned back toward the trio as Thordin drew within earshot just as the one in the middle asked, “Is that Odinson?”
The voice was familiar and a shiver shot down Thordin’s spine. He didn’t recognize the voice, exactly—though he remembered much of what had gone before, there were still some gaps—but he knew that this wasn’t someone he’d had many kind words with, if any.
The likelihood of my crossing blades with him a long time ago, though—that’s damned high. He took a soft, deep breath, hoping that they wouldn’t notice.
“Odinson is dead,” Thom said as Thordin stopped just behind him and to the left of his shoulder.
The man in the center eyed Thordin for a long moment, then mmed softly. “He has his look, but I am inclined to believe you, Ambrose. I had heard a whisper about his death long ago and I seem to recall feeling a…rumbling…if you will.”
Thom inclined his head slightly. Thordin stayed quiet, studying the trio.
That one with the flag—I know I’ve seen him before. I’m sure of it.
The worst of it was, he was certain he’d seen the man in this life, not a previous one.
That was more than enough to leave him terrified.
