31st Spring, 510 A.V.
Sam was flying solo today.  Usually Horse was in attendance, but for the time being, the anti-Drykas was taking care of business without him.  Without Horse, there was no way to distinguish him as Drykas.  The windmark on his wrist was covered with a leather cuff.  The long braids of his youth were shorn years and years ago and never allowed to grow out again.  Without a horse, it was impossible to see his rapport with them.  And so he was just another young face in a crowd of humans, bereft of a distinct culture.  An orphan like all the rest.
He had his eye out for a deal, or a job, or... there was someone, obviously new to town.  Vantha; he recognized him from his time up north.  Well, it was a dog-eat-dog world, and so he bumped carelessly into the man and nicked his wallet, paying Murdoch's action forward.
"Sorry!" he said.  "I'm such a klutz!"
			


 
									 
							