[ IP ] Sentinals

`` Hello, wanderer. For what reason do you enter this place?'' 
 
 His heart almost stops, for a moment. Hunter, warrior, these words which apply to him, they *define* him. Animals with thousands of years of evolution could not sneak up on him, and yet- 
 
 He calms himself with a few slow breaths. `` Who are you?'' 
 
 The old man circles him. He is *truly* old, the hunter observes, with wrinkles like waves on the ocean of his face. A good foot shorter than the hunter, he holds his body up with a cane. The cane is, in fact, the strangest part of his appearance: At first glance, merely a wooden stick, the hunter sees it is more like stone itself, seeming to rise up from the ground in the shape of a staff. He blinks and looks away. 
 
 In this part of the world, one can not obsess over the odd details. 
 
 `` I am merely an observer. A watcher, if you will. I live in this sanctuary.'' 
 
 The hunter glances around at the destruction surrounding him. It might once have been a grand coliseum in a city rivalling Evonia, but has clearly fallen into ruin. In the distance, a vulture circles and lands on a pillar, sticking out from foot-tall grass. Its cries are barely audible, but the hunter hears. 
 
 `` I see. Not much of a sanctuary.'' 
 
 A smile spreads across the man's face, and for a moment he is younger. A memory of a better time, a different time. `` No, I suppose it is not. I simply came to wish you peace as you travel this land.'' 
 
 And then the old man is gone, and the hunter is alone once more. Some remnant of magic, left behind from an advanced civilization, perhaps. A piece of the land, like the statues and gargantuan stone bears that have somehow survived decay over hundreds of years. 
 
 A casual show of the power that sings through the land does not surprise the hunter, but the ensuing loneliness does. The old man was a reminder, perhaps, a callback to the life the wanderer long gave up. *A different time. * 
 
 Perhaps this is why he spends the night under the muzzle of one bear, blotting out the familiar stars above him. There is something there: a warmth, a feeling of companionship the hunter has not experienced in many years. 
 
 Perhaps it is time to go home.
