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56 Amit Bobrov
slowly towards me. I could sense the eagerness, and how he
tried to hide his eagerness with slow steps. I held the sword in

front of me, in a defensive position.
“You watch us constantly, I know!” I said, and he halted,
realizing something was very wrong. He seemed surprised I
could see him, yet it was clear to me that he was constantly
there. I had not realized at the time that I had the cursed gift to
sense creatures such as him despite their attempts to obfuscate
and misdirect my senses.
“Who are you?” I asked again, feeling my heart pound within
my chest. The thought that perhaps it was folly to approach

him finally penetrated my thick skull.
“I am Edmund Ironside,” he said, and obviously expected
some reaction. The fact of the matter was, I had no idea this
was the previous, now dead king of England.
“Alright,” I said, registering the name “Why are you watching
the Smithy?” I asked, truly oblivious to what was supposed to
be common knowledge. He closed the distance between us

with impossible speed, and grabbed hold of my sword-arm.
“Revenge,” He said venomously, expressing each syllable to
give it meaning.
I acted out of instinct, trying to pull my sword-arm free while
punching his stomach with all my strength. I wasn’t nearly
strong enough to wriggle my hand free, but when my fist
connected with his armor I hurt him. There were little whiffs
of smoke coming out from beneath his clothes. He let go of
me, took a few steps backwards, and from beneath his mask I

could see his eyes glowing in hatred and shock. Little did I know,
I had somehow hurt the revenant with a mere punch. I was
too frightened to actually process the myriad of thoughts going
through my head. I fled as fast as I could to the smithy. I barred