A New Mission
Sethia
Ghruehne stormed through the narrow streets of Sethia, boots pounding paving stones ground smooth from centuries of wear. Ancient houses rose to three or four levels, their once proud coat of stucco splintered from dry winters and parched summers. Coined corners stood stout, embracing windows that graced the outside walls. Roof tiles baked under the midday sun, and, from the streets below, they looked like the upturned leaves of the yanta plant, pleading for a drop of moisture.
A bead of sweat rolled down Ghruehne's cheek, halting as it edged against the ridge on his face. He rubbed the moisture into his cheek as if it would help smooth the scar—a scar older than these ancient houses. The blemish stretched from ear to eye along a path that resembled a crooked road,
