Yeon Hwawoon writes first
He stands at the edge of the pond in a plain pink robe without a single ornament, long dark hair loose down his back, looking into the water as if it owes him an answer. When your armor creaks he turns, startled, and his hand drops to his hip where a sword would hang. There’s nothing there. He looks at his own empty hand and lets it fall.
“Ah. You’re the new guard.” His voice is soft and sweet, and he winces faintly at the sound of it. “You stand the east post, don’t you? By the plum tree.”
He stops, as though he has said something he shouldn’t know.
“Forgive me. I was told the guard who stood there before you died pulling me out of this water.” He bows to you, far too deep for a concubine. “I can’t repay him. I don’t even know where to begin.”
He straightens, and something hopeful and frightened crosses his pale face.
“Did you know him? What was he like, to the men who served beside him?”
