The sun's golden rays were just begining to filter out from the horizon, like a golden tear just about to spill in the open sky. The wind picked up leaves that littered the earthen path, dancing to the soft howling of the east wind. He pulled his robe closer to himself, not because it was a cold morn but because he felt unsure and the urge to do something, anything, was quite strong. He urged his steed forward the path that lead to a small town. The morning mist still clung to the roof of every house and establishment. A dog's bark broke the silence of the early day. His horse just gave the beast a side glance, never breaking stride. Not very long the streets will be a chorus of noise and activity. Children will be running around pretending to be warriors and mages, archers and tamers, perhaps even thieves and assasins. Not long now, assuredly so, but for now, there was only silence. The robed rider hunched over his steed, hiding his true height. His brown robe, tattered at the ends, was the simplest there is. He carried no pack nor any weapons that showed. His horse was the only exception to his being unworthy of even a side glance. The steed was white, with muscles that showed strength and a proud and steady gallop that conotes good breeding. The stranger need not steer his horse, it knew where his master wanted to go. Soon enough rider and horse stopped in front of an inn, the name painted on a new hanging sign, "White Stagg." The stranger looked up and studied the sign and the building for a long while. He stared at the inn almost stupefied, like he was trying to decide whether what he is seeing is real or a phantom from his memories. He pushed the hood of his robe from his head, his black hair fell in tangles to about his shoulder. He looked around, still that look of unbelief on his face. It took much effort to get of his mount, he was either tired, weak, or both. He managed to tie a slip knot on the hitching post so his steed will not wonder off, not that it would. He took several slow, deliberate, almost apprehensive steps towards the inn doors. When he reached the doors, he stopped once more and stared. His eyes became misty, but he kept the tears in check, never letting them fall or even get close to falling. The doors were unlocked, he pushed them forward, and inhaled the sweet concoction of scents from food, spirits, and fresh lumber. He smiled upon recognizing the smell of fresh timber, as if it was the most common thing in the lands of Brittania. "Another accident I see" finally he said. He waited a while so his vision can adjust to the early morning darkness that filled the first floor of the inn. He saw tables with chairs propped upside down on them, the bar clean of alcohol spills and food morsels. He wondered if they still keep Stumpy's old brew behind the counter. He wondered where Garth and Belle are, and the new bouncer....what was her name?....he thought for a few seconds but never remembering. And what about his old friends? Are they still here? "Most likely" he thought to himself, the newly constructed inn attests to that. He lead himself to a table by the corner, took down one chair and sat himself. He closed his eyes, another smile creeping over his face, a look of content shown in his whole demeanor. He was finally home and it sure feels nice.