Kajar snapped out of his meditation, fully drenched in sweat. He panted heavily. He could hear his heart beat in his chest like a roaring thunder.
In a swirl of black smoke Lady appeared behind him.
“Meditating?” she smiled, “I thought you said you needed to train.”
Kajar did not turn around.
“It helps me focus,” he said, “You should know that better than anybody.”
Lady gave him a shrug accompanied by a wicked smile and said nothing. In one swift motion her body swirled together like smoke and swiftly rushed toward Kajar where she took shape again, now inches away from his face. She looked up at him with puppy dog eyes.
“Tell me a story,” she whimpered, showing Kajar a mock-frown[‘,’] “Ro won’t be here for a while.” Her arms wrapped around his chest.
Kajar turned away for a second then ran his fingers through his hair. He turned back to face Lady and smiled, letting out a small laugh.
“Which one do you want to hear?” he asked her.
Lady raised an eyebrow and ran her fingers gently along Kajar’s scars like a book. She delicately ran her fingers nimbly and deftly picking and choosing from each one. Finally she touched a deep gash on Kajar’s shoulder.
“That one.” She said finally.
“That one…” Kajar echoed. His mind drifted back to the year 1103…
*** *** ***
A maid flung the drapes open, letting in the bright afternoon sun. Kajar flinched in his bed from the sudden immense light, trying to block it with his hands.
“Five more minutes…” he slurred.
“Up,” the maid said, “you only paid for a few hours. Pack your things and go.”
Kajar let out an animal growl, scaring the maid out of the room. For a moment he forgot where he was, when suddenly his memories flooded back. He had returned to his home town of Italy after hundreds of years.
Just then Kajar felt a splitting pain in his shoulder. He touched it softly to find that his shoulder was covered in blood. He let out a laugh and took a look at his shoulder. He noticed something was lodged in his torn flesh. He let out a grunt and fought through the pain. Finally[‘,’] he extracted the object: a bullet. He laughed loudly and pocketed it. As he sat up in his bed he wiped his bloody hand on the bed and tore some spare clothes to form a makeshift bandage. He packed up the rest of his belongings into a sack and tossed it over his good shoulder.
Kajar left the inn swiftly, yet paused outside when he heard a man bragging to his friends.
“…the beast was on top of me last night. It let out a snarl and tried to attack. I shot it good, though.” The man said. “Must have hurt it bad cause it ran away real quick.”
Kajar let out a bellowing laugh, making sure the man heard him.
“What’s so funny?” he asked curiously.
Kajar let out another small chuckle, “Drunks make up the best stories,” He told the man.
In a sudden burst of fury the man withdrew a knife and lunged at Kajar. A simple sidestep allowed him to avoid that man’s knife while his fist lashed out like a snake, knocking the man back toward his friends.
Kajar pulled a few coins from his sack and tossed them on the ground to him.
“Stick to your stories, kid,” He said. He let out another bellow and left the inn.
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