“Oh, my god,” I said, staring at the bow in horror. I recognized the arrow in the bow; it was grotesquely familiar, the arrow that had been haunting my life and my nightmares.
He knelt down to examine the corpse of his victim. I dared to look too despite the ugly wound, grimacing. Even as a healer, I did not grow accustomed to the sight of blood. I stared at the man’s face in confusion, puzzled as to why I recognized his weapons but not his face.
“I don’t know him,” I said in anger, “do you?”
Aldrich shook his head. “I don’t, either.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I snapped, storming up to the body. I hated the man. I hated his unfamiliar unseeing eyes and his weathered, old face and his unrecognizable hair. How could I not recognize someone that w
