[color=#1A1A3B][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]                  would appear largely unchanged to the others as he arrived back in the Dream, though his armaments were slightly different, what with Bulwark gone–now replaced by a second Blade of Mercy. Additionally, he was carrying a rather large bag in one hand–and a knife in the other, though the latter would be familiar to anyone who’d paid attention and hadn’t newly developed another bout of amnesia. Farren for his part felt that familiar sense of falling, then rising, then being awake suddenly while unsure if he’d ever fallen asleep in truth. It was a bizarre thing, but he shook it off, finding that though it had only been a short time that he was acclimating to the experience. What was harder to adjust to though, was the sensation of blood-rain–its warmth and the faint salty-sweetness of its scent–as it was rather suddenly replaced by bone-chillingly cold, though altogether more natural, rain. A shiver, then a full body shudder, traveled through his form, but after he shook himself slightly, he turned and made his way up the stairs of the path towards the small workshop of the Hunter’s Dream. He took a deep breath, bracing himself again, and then strode in as he opened the door. It drifted shut behind him and Farren laid eyes on his two companions and the woman who once had been his…victim? He swallowed hard, but this time his mouth didn’t dry out quite so much, and he managed not to avoid Gerlinde’s gaze.

Oddly…another impulse came over him instead and he found himself wetting his lips…then speaking. [color=#1A1A3B][b]“Gerlinde,”[/b][/color] he said, making double sure he had her attention, [color=#1A1A3B][b]“...I owe you. We’ve…met before. Though you may not remember…and I barely do. I...I stole you away in the night and took you to Byrgenwerth. Doubt you were ever conscious for it, so we never met, but I remember. It was a job...the old me, the man I was. He tried to forget, but we couldn't.”[/b][/color]

The old part of him, the same one that had insulted her–internally–for her ’scandalous’ garb–balked and Farren’s hands balled into fists as he resisted the urge to shut his mouth. It wasn’t right. He wasn’t that man anymore and if he just let this fester inside him–even if she didn’t remember–it’d eat away at his sanity more surely than anything else they might come across. Besides…he didn’t like lingering debts, whatever form they took, let alone nasty secrets. [color=#1A1A3B][b]“I’d like not to be that sort of man anymore--the sort who buries his mistakes, the type who does things like that. But I’d be a right bastard if I said nothing, and a coward too…and that I can’t abide.”[/b][/color]

That said, he fell silent, holding her gaze if she’d let him, in a sense awaiting judgement.