The story the maitré d’ shared with M’traliel was not fully accurate.

Jahrae had walked for hours, lost in her memories, in her thoughts, in time, and in her pain.

Jahrae’s legs were still moving, but were ready to give out from under her. Looking around the street for relief and respite, her eyes fell upon a small café near the outer edge of Old City, where she quickly decided to go inside and just rest for a while.

Entering the dimly lit café, curiously hosted by a maitré d’ when it was just a quaint hole-in-the-wall establishment, Jahrae counted only 10 other patrons of sufficient like mind as to settle in for whatever the establishment had to offer. She spoke softly to the maitre d’, and he escorted her to the most sheltered and secluded place in the café. As she made her way through the café with the maitré d’, nary a patron even lifted so much as an inquisitive eyebrow towards them as they passed on by. They were also lost in thoughts not of this place, which made Jahrae feel she was settled in amongst kindred spirits.

Directed to a spacious booth at the very back, one furthest away from the kitchen and the entryway, she settled in and audibly released a sigh of relief and pleasure at the unburdening of her weary feet. “If only llhaesa were here to massage them back to life” she wishfully thought – before her mind caught itself and moved to steer her away from more self-inflicted damage.

Several minutes passed before someone reluctantly walked over and inquired after Jahrae’s order. She quickly grabbed the menu, and within 30 seconds had ordered a large glass of water and an accompanying pastry, her order drawing disapproving looks of more expectation from the server.

Again alone with her thoughts, Jahrae stretched her right arm across the edge of the table, and then lowered her head upon her arm. Quickly realising she had one more task to complete before falling into rest, she reached into her bag, and then into a hidden pouch within the bag, extracting a tiny kit which housed the potently pain numbing elsferodol. Jahrae preferred a patch, and the one she currently sported had loosened from abrasion during her trek through Old City. This patch would go to a less involved part of her body.

That final task done, Jahrae moved her arm back to position and lowered her head. When she next woke, the pastry was setting on the table, while the water had long since warmed. Hunger temporarily outpacing her hurts, she made short work of the pastry, while only sipping on the water. This she savoured with more appreciation, nurturing the remaining water as if she was lost in a desert and had exhausted her remaining supply.

Leaving generous payment for her order – the server would undoubtedly be pleased – Jahrae slid to the side of the booth and moved to stand.

As Jahrae gained balance, she noticed a suspicious looking man stepping through what should have been a locked rear door. He was perhaps 40 feet from her, but her senses were signalling danger. And so it was she moved as quick as decorum would allow indoors, passed through the front door with a hurried ‘thank you!’ to the maitre d’, turned left, and then broke into a full out run.

Behind her, the unknown man quickened his own pace, but stayed well within untroubled speed. Passing the maitré d’ with a quick nod of his brow, he passed through the door, turned left, and broke into a run.

But once glance backward provided all the information Jahrae needed to know her hunch had been correct.

Fleet afoot, she maintained her lead on the unknown pursuer, running across a few city blocks. Her legs began to tire; her body ached through and through. She needed a miracle to elude being caught.

Jahrae looked up and into the site of some sort of mini-parade or demonstration moving through the intersection of the crossing street. As she neared the crowd, she could see exotically costumed people, and various animals that drew the interest of children. Reaching the crowd, she excused herself through and on into the street, zig zagging around the parade participants and the accompanying animals.

Reaching the other side, she again started through the crowd, only to hear the crowd gasp. Curiosity getting the better of her, she turned and saw her assailant had tripped over a miniature version of a creature that normally stood at least 2 metres high at its shoulders. A creature which might be known as a miniature buffalo in other lands, but Jahrae could not recall the type of creature. Shifting her thoughts back to the here and now, she looked down at the sprawled out pursuer. She thought back as if in instant replay: as the pursuer fell, he hit his head square on the unmoving pavement, removing consciousness from him for what would undoubtedly be a fair amount of time.

Jahrae turned in the direction she was headed, and now relieved of danger, calmly walked away.