[IP] Every warrior starts somewhere, even those bent on revenge.

[IP] Every warrior starts somewhere, even those bent on revenge. The cartwheel bumped over a stone in the dirt road, a little boy of no more than three looked up from playing with the hay on the cart floor. his mother a fat lady with hair the same colors as the straw sat watching him intently. Occasional she would glance as Sasha with worried eyes. Maybe she had seen many female warriors she thought. A bigger stone rocked the cart wildly, and a hooded old man at Sasha side groaned. Now and then he would cough a great racking thing and clutch at his rib cage. She didn't know what ailed him and generally wouldn't care but something about the old man's sad gray eyes reminded her of Barlia.