The priest arrived again, a plain wood cross held in front of him. Go now the priest whispered to the chill air. If I have to force you to go away again, I will.

He remembered this threat now. Leaving would mean only that he would need to come again. Staying would mean the pain again, the agony that coursed just below the surface of his memory.

No. No. There was something more than this. Something he needed to know. Had it been this same priest who had chased him the first time? Was it this one or another one that had killed?

Had killed. What? Who? Him? Or the someone else he needed to find? To protect?

He clutched his staff as if that could lead him to the truth.

He had forgotten.

He needed to remember.

The only way to remember was to ask.

Staying far from the cross, he drew nearer to the priest.

But his breath on the priest's face could hold no words.