The Long Watch of the Night

[Srelok]

My hand was itching. I'd had to cut the palm as I worked on Sadok's face, and now the bandage was chafing at the skin. Well, at least it made me feel something that was me.

Ever since I was a young boy I'd been able to feel things. When I began the path of shamanism this became stronger. When I enter a room where bloodshed has occured or someone has been intensely happy, I know it. When I touch an object with strong emotional attachments, I feel it.

I sat there watching over the thur'ruk and trying not to feel the history of the hall of the brave. His mate, Kyrazha, had left to be alone a while before, almost demanding I watch over Sadok. Not that I would wander off anyway.. This reminded me that barely anyone knew me here though. I was an unknown, like I always wanted to be. The familial connection to Steelheart wasn'tgoing to help though, that's why I always disappeared. Why I always wore a wolfmask. I didn't want them to see me for who I was. The son of her uncle. I wished to be treated as the person I was, not who people thought me to be.

Sadok was still sleeping soundly. The sleeping potion Kyrazha had given him seemed to work pretty well. I looked him over for a moment. He was no fighter, just like me, but he looked positively frail right now. The bruises were not something I'd waste my blood on, but the breaks had been healed. The next day  would be the biggest job, fixing his teeth. Replacing an entire jaw worth of teeth was a long and painful job, and Sharptongue had already suffered so much... The other side of my ability: empathy that stretched to people's pasts. Sadok was a guarded soul, but the pain of his life was etched on him nevertheless. He was lucky to have found Kyrazha, in my opinion. I'd felt the feelings they shared through her. They were bonded strongly already.

I sat back down to wait for Kyrazha's return, grabbing the axe that had been my father's. Skar'lok, a shadow council enforcer who'd tried to raise me to dark shamanism. When that failed, he'd turned to Rhonya. Eventually he met his fate while trying to deal with a dreadlord, I'd been told. Idiot. The axe in my hands, far too heavy for me to wield effectively, was dripping with pain and sorrow. Not just the victims' but my father's as well. All the stupid mistakes he'd made, all the regets, every last bit of suffering as he'd slowly died, blinded and half flayed..
I carried the axe with me as a reminder where I'd come from, and to warn me against screwing up.

I set the heavy weapon aside again, settling in for the rest of the long watch of the night.