Depth laid in the man's gaze. While he was older then Ezra by years, he was by no means old. Yet the look - if Ezra could describe it, it reminded him of Journey. A woman who had said she had lived many lives and her wisdom of each had come along with her.

Ezra did not hold the same gaze. But he knew pain and he knew death. Far too much of it in his yearling life. More then anything now he just wanted to join those in Valhalla he had lost. But he couldn't die like a bitch. He needed to in battle. So until then...

I'd rather the truth, then the lie. They could both agree on that. Ezra lifts his head as the conversation turns. His weak foreleg shifting under him. I fell off a cliff as a child. And by the looks of it, a far less interesting story than his own damage.