He approached Alexi with a slight yet bright smile on his lips. He was a singularly unique man though his long wiskers and beard were grey his face was positively youthful as was the speedy energy of his stride. Then again it might have been the tools within that apron, or even the dark soot that stained his shirt. He fled to the streets surviving on small odd jobs and the almost impudent generosity of those who visited the town.Īt first Alexi thought that this man was a smithy, perhaps due to his clothes, a sturdy shirt covered by a canvas apron, leather pants and boots. He was a ruthlessly stingy man and yet was overly generous with the welts, cuts, and bruises he delivered with great ferocity to the poor boy's back. rage, unbridled fury was the mans most constant companion, save that is for the bottle. Smallpox robbed him of his mother only two years ago and as for his father. After just six short years society had taught Alexi one very important lesson:
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