[Salone]

Lev lay face down in a ditch just off a pathway, using it as a makeshift bed. He found the curvature of it comforting, the side of his head resting against his hand. It was relaxing compared to the mass graves he had hid in back home, and the small of death was much less prevalent. Still, it said something about his standards of living that he found a ditch mildly attractive.

He wasn't entirely at home, however. Lev knew that lying around in a ditch was not going to feed him, and the longer he idled in this city, the greater his chances were of never leaving it. It was time to find food and possibly work, and then move on.

He picked himself up slowly, revolver catching the eye of passerby. He opened his fingers and waved awkwardly with the gun still in his hand, trying to show that he was a victim of circumstances, not a deranged killer. Suddenly there was space around him where walking townsfolk had been; as if him stirring had created an area that the common man would rather not walk through. Lev dropped his eyes and slid his left hand in to a torn pocket, made wide enough for both stake and revolver. He trotted off as quietly as he could, disappearing into one of the less observant throngs of people milling about.