"Old," he replied. They were nearly there. That meant he had to concentrate and try and stay alert. Being alert made the pain more acute. He was getting used to it now, but this one would go away. Not like the one that spread across the scars on his chest. Some mistakes stayed with you forever. They were stopped briefly at the guardhouse built into the gate. Gerrard sat tall to try and avoid any questions. He couldn't abide pointless questions. They were waved through whilst the guards inspected a merchant's wagon. Gerrard brought his horse level to hers and gave directions when he could muster the breath. The inn sat at the crossroads near the centre of town. Hanging over the doorway was a grid of pieces of metal painted red. The rusted gate. "Go ask the innkeeper to get his boy to stable the horses please," Gerrard asked as he summoned the willpower to get down from his saddle.