It was the morning after the unrelentful storm it could have been the coldest day in 5 years, two blury figures trudge through the snow to the crags close to Stonehenge. One of the blurry figures is hesitant as his hair twists in the wind, he is not properly dressed for the cold, but by the look on his face the cold is the least of his concerns. The other man walks upright, properly dressed for the coldness as his hair twists in the wind. On his face he wears a vindictive grin. As he said “Mark, your time has come.”

The cold sparks Marks memory of a dragon on the palisade of lockness, as the water crashes up the bank. His guard’s tapping brings Mark back from his stases of memories. His guard points to a tall oak tree, slightly dangling off the bluff. Mark’s shackles ring as his shaking leg quiver. A yellow stream meanders down Mark’s leg as they near the tree. Suddenly in a flash a picture of a woman and boy in a silver locket falls from Mark’s finger tips to the ground.

Mark grabs the bark, ripping him back to memories of the wooden handle of a long sword piercing the flesh of a woman, while she stares at the carcass of her dead son. As an upright figure runs in discussed and hatred from Mark’s crime. The noose tightens around marks neck as he is pulled back to reality.

Mark slinks up to the edge of the tree. As he looks off the edge, he trips and looses his breath as his eyes close. The thought of a woman flows through his mind as he falls unconscious. A second latter Mark is awake sitting in the old pub drinking his ale. The bar tender rambles “So have a nice dream?” As Mark stumbles out of the pub into the unrelentful storm, tomorrow could be the coldest day in 5 years.

Lost in his drunkenness Mark wonders into an alleyway. A cloaked figure turns a corner in front of Mark, the lighting runs across the figures face and Mark recognizes the vindictive grin on the figures face. As the man raises his crossbow he said “Mark, your...

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