Thoughts

Thunderstorms: One.

She was such a frail child, no taller than the stable fence that kept the horses in their keep, with hair darker than the night's sky and softer than silk. But Azra had never met anyone else who could manipulate the human anatomy like Mila. She was a specialist at killing, so naturally they became the best of friends. It had been twenty winters now since they met, and the amount of blood they had spilled between them could fill the Dead Forest over.

"Did you just send me to the east so I wouldn't best you in battle, Mila?" the bushes to the side of Mila parted and out stepped a woman, her blond hair darkened by the rain. She, unlike Mila and Azra, sported no armor or weapons of the sort. She had in hand, a wooden stuff and a cloak of the deepest blue color.

"I would never dare do that, Mimo. I was only giving you enough room to swing your staff to your heart's content."

Mimo huffed and drew the hood of her cloak to cover more of her face as she stuck her tongue at Mila. Azra had found this one when he had ventured into the lands north of the Yori Motherlands. She was not a Yorite, but she had ancestry to the Elenka mages. And she had almost killed him with that wooden staff when he refused to engage her in conversation.

Azra should have known that the weapon was no normal wood back then. The staff she used was from the Woods of Spirits north of the Yori Motherlands. She had lived with them for so long that she knew the ways of spirits more than those of men. Azra was surprised when she consented to follow him, but had to dress her in his own cloak, that she uses until today, as spirits never had much patience with clothing.

"We must be moving along now," Azra drew their attention as he lifted his head to the night's sky. There was a low rumble in the sky as the rain begun to reduce in intensity. It steadily continued the decline until finally there was a loud clap of thunder before the rain seized to fall. His friend had served him well yet again.

"There will never come a day that your stunt with the weather will be common place with me," Mimo spoke as she angled her staff to her back and took her hood off, shaking the moisture off her blond tresses. She was the only person in all of Yori that Azra knew was always so particular with their hair.

"Let us have some answers now," Azra turned back to the camp and glanced straight at the bandit who was backing away from them, sure in the knowledge that he was going unnoticed by these abominations. The way they killed his brethren was not normal of ordinary people. Each of them had a certain amount of darkness to them. But none he feared more than the Sky Mover.

Oh yes... even low lever bandits like him knew of Azra the Sky Mover.

"The girl, where have you placed her?"

The bandit was not a fool. He knew that if he spoke to these people, there was no guarantee that they would not kill him still. It was not in the nature of these people to be forgiving. He had sworn his loyalty to the Brotherhood and he would rather die than betray them.

"He seems to value death more than his life, Azra," the blonde staff wielder spoke to the Sky mover and the bandit was confused. How did the woman know about his thoughts?

"Then we should respect his wishes," that was the last thing the bandit heard from this world. The strike came so swift that he had only blinked before he felt the embrace of death.

"Well... that went well," Azra heard Mila jest as he got to his feet. He had known that the man would never divulge the location of the girl. He had dealt with numerous of his kind to know how extremely stubborn they can be. He however, always gave them the choice. Brolin had taught him that choices are what define a man. He would always give someone a chance to define themselves.