"Not far now my friend. You may rest soon."

The gates of Heldren such as they were loomed ahead a hundred meters up the path. There was the promise of warmth and safety, employment perhaps. Most importantly food. The young man's companion did not answer. He could not, the dead-after all-do not speak.

The young man; Tenzei, was not bothered by the man's limp weight, there was a strength to his arms that belied his portly cheeks and belly. He wore a brown faded robe and sturdy boots with a rucksack about his shoulders. His pate covered in a thin fuzz of stubble, as if his head was once shaved but had been neglected. It was itchy, but Tenzei's arms were full of the corpse of a dead man. Like a solid boulder rolling down a hill he took step after step forwards until at last the gates were firmly in front of him. Adjusting his stance, Tenzei raised his eyes to the watchman.

"Good afternoon. I am but a soul in search of succor. This one is a soul in search of rest. Could you direct me to your house of graves?"

Tenzei tried to smile warmly and look the man in the eye, but could not maintain the open guileless stare for long. He dropped his eyes to the ground in front of his feet and waited, nervous yet patient.