Cato couldn't believe his eyes. The old centurion's weather-beaten face peered back at him, bathed in the orange glow of the hearth fire. he didn't say a word.
“Lingus! My friend!" Cato yelled and with a sudden burst of energy, he pulled himself free from the heavy wooden bench. “How are you alive?"
The man just stared back at him and smile. A chill ran down Cato's spine and he halted in place. Perhaps this was another beast from the nightmarish folktales of Britannia.
“Don't be foolish," Skoll scolded him. “No such beast exists."
“Well?" Cato pressed on. “Speak man! Have you lost your senses?"
Lingus shook his head vigorously, frustration flashed across his face. He pointed to his mouth.
“You've lost your tongue?" Cato stated shock rippled through him. “How?"
The soldier shrugged.
