A newcomer.

Two eyes blacked out into the inky shadow of the hood. A new light came to Lye's senses, the sense of what does not belong. The other patrons muddled into apparitions. A world of silhouettes slipped into Lye's mind and the ghosts of complacency haunted the nonchalant and mediocre. His senses reached and painted the interior of the tavern. It spilled outward and reached the grass, trees, and muddy roads in the village beyond the four walls. Footsteps still fresh from a new occupant of the tavern lit up like candles in the night. A rich history followed. Uniqueness. Power.

The pale lips beneath the hood pulled to a grin and the veteran's arms prickled. His sense of contrast honed and focused on the bright aura of the newcomer. It hovered eerily about from all angles. It took inventory of height, build, and weapons.

'A spear and bow...' Lye reflected in his thoughts. 'The tools of a hunter.'

He knew how to take a life. He know how to conquer prey and draw the line between the strong and the weak. A question arose: did the hunter respect the honor of a kill? Did he enjoy the thrill of the hunt, the warmth of life, and the cold of inevitable fate brought early?

Lye rose his hand toward the bartender to catch the attention he already had. With a scowl from the man and a glimmer of concern from the maiden, Lye opened his eyes and tapped two fingers on the table. Then, he quietly slid the near empty glass to the edge.

"I'll take another after all." His coarse tone carried over the idle chatter despite its reasonable volume. Years of experience hung on the words like a heavy grit on sandpaper. "And I'll cover this one's tab."

Lye pointed a finger toward the newcomer and lifted his hung head. Light poured over pale skin and angular features. An aged scar ran across a clouded eye as it focused toward the tip of his finger and the man on the end of it.