I kept watch for more than a turn, checking the routine of those who lived in that tumbledown shack. I especially paid attention to how often the lookout changed. Once I was certain of how many marcs a watch lasted it was possible to finalise my plan.

So many thoughts and ideas came to mind as I waited, still and concealed. This slightly crazy venture could go badly wrong, Of that I had no illusions. A twig cracking beneath my foot, a slip at exactly the wrong moment, a blade knocked from my hand - any of these or one of many more possibilities and my scheme would come crashing to ruination. And what was there to be gained? Nothing for myself, not directly - though I had a hope that actions might say more than my words have been able to say for far too long. But for another there could be some closure about an unpleasant happening, the lifting of one of many burdens from her soul and heart.

At last the moment came when I felt I'd learned all I could. One marc before the watch was due to change. Long enough to be undisturbed by the approach of the next one due on watch, and long enough for the current lookout to become bored or careless. It was with some relief I silently checked my blades one final time. The waiting, the inaction, that's always the worst part. I rose from where I'd lain for so long, and stretched arms and legs to make sure no sudden cramp of a muscle would hinder my movements.
'Five,' I thought as I headed silently toward the lookout 'One on watch, four in the shack.'
I've many faults, but I'll always face an opponent. Any other way would be cowardly, dishonourable. I stopped a few paces from the unsuspecting lookout. 'If you were maybe watching for me ... well, here I am.' He started as I spoke, turned and rushed with a blade raised. It was over in a moment. 'Four in the shack' I thought.
Now there was reason to hurry, in case any might have heard something. I made my way to the shack, opened the door, and stepped inside. Four, yes, but all asleep. I looked around for a particular figure, and saw one wore a green bracelet tied around his wrist. He looked so young I thought, as I clamped a hand across his mouth and spoke quietly in his ear. 'Not a sound now. You're James, yes? His eyes opened wide, and he nodded, staring up at me. 'All right then. I have a gift for you, a gift from Ellyana. That gift is ... your life. Run.'
He rose and bolted, As the door slammed behind him, rousing the others, the thought 'Three in the shack' passed through my mind. I set my back to the door and watched as they stirred, saw a stranger in their midst, and came at me. No more sneaking and hiding, no more waiting and planning ... just pure action, face-to-face, up close and personal.
The details of actions sometimes blur in our minds, so I can't relate much of what happened. Suffice it to say that after some time, during which the count in my mind went down from three to zero, all was finally quiet in there.
They'd each been wearing a reddish-orange scarf, presumably to pull up over their faces when they robbed somone. Robbed or worse. I collected three before leaving, shutting behind me the door of the now deathly-quiet shack. And I took the scarf from the fallen lookout too.
Inevitably, I'd collected a few cuts and slight injuries, but nothing I couldn't give same basic attention to. I headed back to the lands, moving somewhat more slowly due to those injuries. As I travelled I reflected on what had transpired. One fewer load for Ellyana, an injustice put right. What I'd done was justified, of that I had no doubt. And done for the same reason behind so many of my actions over the cycles of the 'rifter. I can only hope that fate, or the gods, see my actions in the same light.

She must have taken the wrong path ... With only the tattered map I gave her a few cycles of the 'rifter ago, and her famously unreliable sense of direction, the thought came as no great surprise. The band of men who found her weren't the forest rangers we'd dealt with previously, that was for sure. Those good forest men wouldn't have acted in such a way. And I'm sure they would have recognised her after the many times I'd shared their campire and probably spoken of nothing else! And also I'd imagine that at some point Denion might have mentioned what awaited those who harm any I hold dear.

Ellyana was sleeping - though not particularly peacefully - when I left. I'd told her there was some business to attend to, without being any more specific than that. She'd lost her way somewhere, but had said she recalled crossing an old bridge just before the bandits caught her, and the mention of that bridge gave me a fairly good idea of where they might be found. The path is so familiar to me now that I was able to travel fast and light, very rapidly reaching the end of my journey. A wry smile came to my lips at the realisation of just what that end might be. But this had to be done, to lift one of the many burdens from her heart and soul. I slipped through darkness as I neared the area, flitting from shadow to shadow. And sure enough there was an apparently abandoned trail amongst the trees. I spotted one of the bandits who was supposedly on lookout duty. Perhaps he hoped his snoring would frighten away any who thought to intrude. It was the work of only a few moments to work my way past him, and at the end of the trail I saw a tumbledown shack. Faint sounds came from inside, and I knew I'd found my prey. There were five of them, Ellyana had said. I'd need to be very careful, to be well prepared for what was to come.

I found a spot to hide, away from but in sight of the shack, off the line between the shack and the lookout point. Ideal place it was to keep out of view. I settled down for a fairly long wait as I watched the bandits' comings and goings, and I laid my plans.

We sleep, and with that sleep come dreams. They're ephemeral, as elusive as smoke. Try to take the dream in your hands and it slips through your fingers. Those fleeting images flash before our closed eyes, appearing and dissipating in a brief moment. We can't hold the actual dream itself, no. But we may be able to keep the memory of it.
The above holds when we sleep for a few marcs. But recently I've slept for turn after turn after turn - and in that circumstance the dreams change in character. They linger on, and repeat, and lengthen. Eventually, they become as the waking world, a dreamworld that seems real, and we continue our waking life in our mind though our body still sleeps. And within that protracted sleep, our thoughts may have a chance to crystallise more clearly as our mind has greater leisure to explore all aspects of a situation.
Faces and voices, names and places - they all pass in procession. The thoughts and feelings associated with them come to the sleeping mind too, and with no distractions there is time to examine those thoughts, those feelings, hopes and aspirations. The protracted dream allows time for all to be analysed, free from the train of thought being broken by duty or events in the lands.

Names ... voices ... faces ... No, only one name, one voice, one face. Fond as I have grown of others, aware as I am of the calls of duty, I know the course I should pursue.

Dreams can not predict the future, of course. But I feel there are two possibilites as I follow the path shown to me. I shall be with that one person or I shall be alone.