I was unable to retrieve my train of thought from earlier. It matters little.
Word has been received, but not what I had wished. I had hoped to rejoin my companions, and particularly to see how our stricken friend was getting along. Instead, I am to return to the old fort to the south and keep watch there. There is still activity in the ruins, despite the recent storm, and with my two kinsmen departed, a pair of eyes is needed.
I could stay here at the inn another night, and none would begrudge me for it. But every hour that I linger is an hour for the southern rabble to move without being watched. I am sorry that I will not see the kind stranger again. I meant to shake his hand and give him my name, but it seemed easier to simply slip away. Alas, such is the way of things. We meet folk and carry on and they are but a memory, soon faded together with a hundred others who forget they ever met us. And this is not a complaint. I pledged my purpose long ago, and I will see it through to the end, and all the reward I need is the knowledge that I did it well. I need never tell myself that I made an impression on anyone. The stranger thought that hiding my face was vanity, but it is just the opposite. The desire to be remembered once one departs another's company; that is vanity.
