The sun rose over the beggar flats, much as it would do in any other part of Anhau, though the light that filtered through the thin sheet of material that served as a door seemed subdued, lackluster almost.

By the time it reached the not-so-young-anymore man who lay a few feet deep in a cool mud bunker, the light had trickled into a faint nothingness- just strong enough to make out a series of scratches marked into the wall, each one to pass the counting of the days, ten years filling the under ground walls. Ten years to the day.

He stood and clambered up a makeshift ladder to reach the entrance of his dwelling, pulling aside the sheet and scanning the flats, they pulsated with silence, save for the scratch of mud and sticks. He had nothing to take with him, save for the clothes on his back and the figurines he had sculpted, the crude replicas of three young friends who had made terrible mistakes. Perhaps he too would be able to leave the memories of the past ten years inside his ram-shackle mud-home.

Thought of this day alone had filled Frith Rair's mind as the months passed into years, his beard grew, his nails became caked with mud and he began to forget how to use his voice. And now it was here, a wave of uncertainty filled his mind, almost a fear of the unknown. Frith tried to prepare himself for hostility, he doubted many would cheer to see a traitor return.

But I have paid for my crimes , Frith reminded himself firmly They may hate me at first, but home is far better than here. Perhaps if I keep my head down one day they will come to accept me. Though for the most part Frith could not believe this to be true

Ten years had been a long time to be so near, barely a stone's throw away, and yet so far from home.