The Thief and the Ghost Chapter 1: A Gift of Blood

After too much time I found Mont. He was, as always, with the lowest of the humans. As a Ghost he was lower than any human on the continent. Yet his demeanor did not show that he was someone who was not to be communicated with by polite society. Yes, I could talk with him but I was not encouraged to do so. As he held onto his staff, his eyes seemed to look right at me and then his face grew angrier than normal. Mont was not always angry, but his face did a good job at making him seem so. I guessed he knew from the sound my body and clothing made that I was carrying no weapons. It was amazing how enhanced the senses of a rider were.

Though riders did not age except extremely slowly when Ghosts, Mont appeared to be a man in his mid-fifties. His hairline had receded a little and he wore the wrinkles of an old man. As always his facial hair was trimmed to a very appealing degree. His cheekbones seemed to be much sharper than the blade he carried. I thought if I ran my hands lightly against his cheeks that they would be cut off.

I wondered what color his eyes were before he had become a rider. In the present they were whitish as all their color had been drained. Did they used to be blue like the sky? Had they been green like the vast jungles of Horngul? When Mont was born did he have eyes that were as brown as the dirt or golden like the sun?

-This is a Mature Story
-It's an Original Fantasy Series

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