Jimma's grip on the dagger tightened as he stared at Phil. The man still held that darkness in those hooded eyes of his. While most bounty hunters hide their identity behind a mask, Phil on the other hand was rather blunt. The way he flaunts that grass on his lips, made Jimma wonder if the man was actually a hunter or a merchant. It was hard to place his description. Phil was a strange one, whether a merchant or a hunter, he was indeed a strange one.
Jimma raised the lamp, letting the orange glow hang on the faces of Phil's companions. Of course, there was no wall of familiarity on their faces, but unlike Phil, the tattered animal hide and wool that hung on their shoulders gave them away. These men were farmers. Mostly men whose lust for money and pleasure have turned them into puppets, d
