The mountain path was steep and dark. The humidity of an early summer night clung to the collar, and while the sound of grass insects echoed from all directions, the dull sound of footsteps pushing through branches drew closer. The sound stopped just a reach away from the twins' dwelling. At that sound, the younger brother gripped a dagger and listened intently.

A staggering figure emerged from the darkness. His gat was half-broken, and the hem of his dopo was smeared with mud and blood. The tall man barely supported himself by leaning his shoulder against a tree, while blood flowing from his forehead traced a line down his eyelid to the tip of his chin.

Sowol took a step forward. He carefully examined the man's face under the moonlight. A face not young but still in its prime, with clean features and the remains of expensive fabric. His appearance was unusual for a wandering traveler.

...Yuwol, go get some water.