Torghan ducked as he crossed the threshold of the house, passing through a door that had once seemed to scrape the sky but now barely cleared the crown of his head.
The June sun hit him square in the face, blindingly bright and smelling of dry pine. The warm air embraced him like an old friend, caressing his scarred face as he scanned the road. He knew Jarza was occupied with the "family" through a translator, but the small, portly man who had done all the talking was already making a brisk exit toward the camp.
Torghan set off after him. Heads turned as he passed, familiar faces peering out from low-roofed houses, their eyes wide at the transformation of the boy they once knew. A sharp pang of nostalgia struck him, bitter and sudden.
