“Paint!” a woman’s voice called. It was coming from up the narrow road leading towards a small cluster of houses. He sighed. It was Grelda, his neighbour of nearly fifteen years. They lived next to each other in a place called Kinon, affectionately called Kinney by locals. It wasn’t big enough to fly a Banner, but Kinney was well known throughout the realm of Umlom for its kind and welcoming people. Grelda and her enthusiastic greetings were the embodiment of that.

Grelda continued to move hurriedly down the road. Stout in stature, she moved in a manner that was anything but discreet. Yet she continued to go unacknowledged by her neighbour as she approached.

“Paint!”

The harmless greeting caused his eye to twitch and his upper lip to snarl ever so slightly. He was aware but unable to prevent his reaction. The best he could do was to try and conceal the base instinct. The name Paint bothered him, but he never corrected anyone. He had been a painter, after all, but couldn’t bear to explain why the name haunted him. Instead, he quickly repressed the feeling and carried on. That was how it had gone every time he’d been addressed as Paint over the past five years. He thought of himself as a traveller now, albeit not very intrepid. Relaxing his face, he looked up from tending to his horse, Tolo. Then he greeted his neighbour, who was now upon him.

“Morning, Grelda,” he said politely but with little invitation to continue the conversation. His attention was fixed on his saddle straps and bags, preparing to be away for at least a few nights.

“Are you heading to Onny again?” she asked, referring to Onlomum. It was a good day’s ride and the nearest place of note. The journeys only ever lasted three or four days, and a few small packages were all he ever had to show for it.

She was nosy, to be sure, but not so inquisitive to ask what he returned with each trip. The man had covered his windows from the inside, figuring Grelda might try and peer in. They’d been like that since Kahriah left.

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“No. Not this time,” he replied, knowing he was about to hear a request regardless of whether Onny was on his route or not.

“Well, if you see it, would you pick me up some dragonleaf while you’re gone?” she asked. Dragonleaf was a spicy melange of several herbs that added a nice kick to harvest stews. Toward the end of summer, merchants in larger port towns like Onny would often have it available. It was a simple request, but the look on her face suggested it was one Grelda knew he wouldn’t remember. Whatever these excursions were, he usually returned quite crestfallen and distant. More distant than usual.

“Sure,” he replied, not really making note of her request. They smiled at each other. Grelda, in her kindness, wouldn’t bring it up when he returned empty-handed.

He went back into his house to grab the last of his provisions, tucked them in saddlebags, and stuck a boot in a stirrup. Mounted, the tall and sinewy man’s head would barely clear a ten-foot gate. A mess of dark hair framed his patchy, bearded face, creating a broody demeanour. His clothes were simple except for haphazard splashes of paint. Though not sloppy or unkempt, he certainly wasn’t one to be concerned with appearances. On a horse, he was quite a skilled rider, despite Tolo getting on in years. She was an older horse of below-average size and had a dark brown coat with large, white irregular patches. Tolo wasn’t fast, which suited the man just fine. With no schedule to keep, he moved at a deliberate pace most of the time, not testing his riding skills or his horse very much. He gave Grelda an obligatory wave as he headed off.

The traveller pulled a book out from his saddle containing sketches and notes of Kinney’s surrounding areas. These observations were a record of where he had been, and the boundary he did not travel beyond.

Munum was to be his first destination on this particular journey, and most riders could make it there in a day; it would take Tolo and her rider two. They went slowly and frequently veered off the trail, covering at least twice as much ground as needed. The simple town surrounded by farms was due west of Kinney, but his route twisted and turned through every manner of forest and field. Most of the day was spent paying close attention to his surroundings with little regard for progress. As sunfall approached and Munum was still out of reach, he made camp in a secluded grove of bloodfir trees. For most, the idea of sleeping outside among the creatures and renegades might make for a restless night, but for him it wasn’t a concern. With Tolo securely attached to a tree, fed, and watered, rest found him easily enough. Though his body lay comfortably, his mind raced with scenes from his past.