Suddenly he recognized the box right in front of him. It was his own trunk. The one he’d taken with him when first leaving for the Roughs, twenty years ago. The one—now battered and aged—that he’d brought back with him to the City. The one he’d filled with his guns on that night months ago. There was a tassel from a mistcoat hanging out of one side. You’re welcome, the voice whispered.
Thanks, Sazed!
