As the traveler neared the village, his qualities became more distinctive. Her jaw dropped. She only knew him by association, for she had never talked to him. She couldn’t even remember his name, though it was on the tip of her tongue. He was young … sixteen, perhaps. His long hair was tied in a red bun atop his head, like a flame atop a torch. He wore ragged, holey clothes, his tunic a dirty tan but stained so badly it had yellowed. And he wore no shoes. A scabbard clung to his hip while a marvelous bow and quiver of arrows were crisscrossed on his back. As he neared, she could even
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Simon? DA ARELIGIOUS HELL?
