Third

Before he had taken the trip the man had taken a walk one night after an uncomfortable conversation that he had not wanted to face. His mind was full and he needed it cleared and while he felt like striking something he could not risk his hands, he needed them still.
After a long walk, he found a small tavern that still had its doors open where he could enter, order a simple drink and sit down to think.
It is different.
The words rang through his mind over and over. It is different. It was always different. It did not matter what he drank his mind would not clear but he knew one outlet, it had worked before and so maybe it would work again.
From the coat, he pulled out his precious book of parchments along with the pencil he had started to use again. One of the used parchments was turned over so he had an empty canvas to work with, the pencil placed against the surface and a single line drawn and then, nothing.
Despite the thoughts, there was nothing in his head, nothing that made his hand move. Frustration built up and another, a sharp line was drawn to vent it but nothing more. He looked between the two lines and a third one was added and then a fourth, another after that and then another. 
Simple lines, that is all he drew. All he could draw. As each line was added his mind began to ease up, the thoughts silenced and he found a long moment of peace as he simply drew line after a line.
He did not know what he drew, he never did.

But...

It was different.