In the dark and reverberant room, Stroud’s facial muscles twitched sporadically while he sat closed-eyes on top of his mattress.

Within his misty mindscape, fragments of ethereal shale and stone chips rained down through the void. His engraving was finally nearing completion after the past few days of frantic work.

But as rivulets of sweat streamed down his face, he forced himself to stop short. His mind was strained to the limit, nearly resulting in an errant swipe of his consciousness across the growing sigil just moments prior. Minor mistakes could be remedied, to an extent, but anything that harmed the integral structure of the spell model would require a wipe and a complete restart — erasing precious weeks of effort...

As many times as he told himself not to be too hasty, Stroud found it increasingly difficult to abide by his own decrees.

Eyes fluttering open, he breathed out, exhaling the tension in his body as he glanced down at the clear vial in his lap. Typically, this would be the time of night when he swallowed some of the raw Nura to work on his body.

Only now, there was just this single dose left. The others had been exhausted during his time in the Sanctum thus far, and he hesitated to squander his remaining supply.

With an alternative method for enhancing his physique now in hand, he could now use this Nura as he’d originally intended — to cast spells in times of need. It would likely be a crucial trump card in his missions for the Headmistress as Stroud had a sneaking suspicion that his tasks would never be as harmless as eavesdropping on a few conversations, or the like.

And while he loathed that his progress would stagnate during the time it would take to gather the ingredients for the Blood Steeping, it seemed inevitable.

Dismissing his apprehensions concerning his personal progress, for the time being, Stroud turned his thoughts to another pressing issue that had recently cropped up in his mind.

It had taken him some time, but he finally realized just how self-absorbed he’d been while wallowing in anxiety. Stroud firmly believed that his burdens were his own to carry. But as he shut everyone else out, he’d also neglected to consider their involvement in the Headmistress’s ploys.

Earlier in the evening, it had dawned on him that the Marwoods probably had no idea about the impending conflict between Lady Adelais and Prince Ajax.

When recalling the scene at that dinner gathering, Stroud felt it odd that the Baron was so surprised and eager to send Maeve off to Frostrane — because it was equivalent to throwing his lot in with the former Marchioness.

A decision like that would normally require some serious consideration. And while the Marwoods held no love for the prince’s regime after the incident when the official had attacked Maeve… that didn’t mean they were immediately ready to stand beside a potential usurper.

Ultimately, Stroud believed that Baron Marwood was no fool; he was just lacking critical information. This train of thought didn’t need to run along its tracks for very long before it arrived at a culprit: Landon.

The steward must have been shirking his duties, intentionally or otherwise. This was the only conceivable explanation for the Baron’s ignorance — given that the whole purpose of the man being stationed in the capital was so that he could stay up to date on the happenings of the principality and the kingdom.

That being the case, it remained to be seen what Landon’s motives were. He was obviously dissatisfied with his current lot in life, but at worst, Stroud had seen him vent his frustrations through harsh quips and an aloof demeanor.

He didn’t seem like someone who would allow his bosom friend to essentially offer up his daughter as a hostage.

Yet, nothing could be ruled out. Jealousy and resentment could give birth to many complex feelings and thoughts...

Stroud sighed, the sound of his heavy breath concealed by the creaking of his stiff joints as he stood up and stepped over to his desk. Wax dribbled slowly down the shaft of the fresh candle he had lit before his engraving session. His murky eyes followed the droplets in a daze while he gathered his thoughts. The quill in his hand remained stationary.

Clarity eventually arrived in the time it took for nearly a third of the pale stick to burn. It wasn’t his duty to dissect anyone’s motives. All he needed to do was report.

Stroud didn’t fear Landon. He was only worried about how the Baron may react to the news.

Matters… would certainly grow more complicated. But the man deserved to know what his family had become embroiled in.

After sliding the inkwell within reach, a soft scratching echoed through the room.

***

“...Morning, Stroud.” Maeve’s blearly voice barely reached his ears as she poked her head around the half-open door to her room.

The girl’s hair was frazzled, billowing up and outwards like crackling tongues of flame. She rubbed absentmindedly at her drooping eyelids as the torchlight in the hallway glared angrily.

Taking in her appearance, Stroud procured his pocket watch from within his coat and frowned. “Don’t you have a lesson to attend soon?”

Coughing lightly into her hand, Maeve composed herself and slanted her brows into a stern expression. “I’ll be ready shortly. I was just up late last night doing some reading and happened to oversleep.”

“Mhm…” Stroud wasn’t buying it, but he had too much he wanted to accomplish today to waste time pestering her. “Anyway, I’ll be checking out some botanists again this afternoon. Do you have a list of anything you want me to keep an eye out for?”

“Ah, yes! Hold on!” Maeve jolted fully awake. The warm rosy glow on her cheeks deepened as she spun around and scrambled back into her room, finally drawing the curtains. When she returned moments later with a small purse and a crumpled note in hand, the door swung wholly open, revealing her pajamas and the disheveled state of her bed. “Here you go…” uncertainty flashed across her eyes, “...These are only some of the herbs I know of from home. But if you see anything else that’s interesting — don’t hesitate to buy it. I’m not too worried about the cost.”

Stroud bowed his head as he retrieved the items from her hand. “It shall be done, Madam.”

Groggy students wearing their bright blue robes began filing into the corridor as their exchange was completed. Stroud wanted to leave before activities at the Sanctum kicked into full-swing, but as he grumbled to himself and turned to join the flow of traffic, he saw Maeve slouch dispiritedly before she disappeared behind her door.

His chest tightened, pressed down upon by an inexplicable weight. His charge’s despondence seemed to be growing in parallel with the mounting pressure of his own worries. Torn between turning back to comfort her and carrying on with his day, Stroud stood rooted in place. Though shortly, his choice was made for him. Jostled forward by the growing crowd, he was quickly swept away...

“May as well get on with… We’ll have plenty of time to speak in the evening…” Stroud grumbled to himself as he arrived in the empty plaza.

It didn’t take long for him to refocus after leaving the Sanctum’s confines, and despite the earlier hiccup, his steps were more assured today as he quickly cut through the inner city and skirted around the Verum. His first order of business was to send off the letter he’d written last night, so he disregarded all the familiar markets and shops as he made directly for the Courier’s office.

The building was located near the outer wall’s main gate and looked just like any other in its vicinity: tall and broad with dirtied white walls and numerous small, shuttered windows. Stroud only knew of its location because it was right near the inn where Landon had booked a room the day they’d arrived in the city.

Waiting outside for a few minutes was plenty long enough to see numerous young men hurrying in and out of the bright royal blue door. Satchels dyed a similar color hung around their shoulders, and their frantic eyes turned left and right as they dodged around the foot traffic, making split decisions about the route they would take to their destination.

However, upon entering, Stroud discovered that the atmosphere inside the building was quite the opposite of what he anticipated. All the couriers sat in small groups around rounded tables, drinking tea or other dark beverages that emanated warmth and a rich fragrance while they ate their breakfast.

Soft conversations churned together in a low gurgle as the men laughed and joked with one another. Their casual attitudes infected Stroud with a surprising immediateness. He paused in the middle of the spacious lounge and breathed in the comforting smell that reminded him very much of a cup of coffee.

Nostalgia hit him hard and fast, so it was fortunate that someone nearby promptly interrupted him before he sank too far into his reminiscing.

“Hey, kid! Messages are to be delivered over there — to Martin…”

Stroud swiveled his head to locate the speaker and swiftly landed his eyes on a balding middle-aged man who was pointing him toward a long counter that stretched across an alcove in the back wall.

He opened his mouth to offer his thanks, but before he had a chance to squeeze out the words, the man spoke again: “Otherwise, if you’re looking for work, just seek out Rica.” Despite the lack of hair atop his head, this messenger had plenty of it dangling below his chin. He stroked his russet beard thoughtfully as he eyed Stroud up and down. “Yea, you look decent enough… Tell her Armin sent you.”

At this point, the gangly, sallow-faced teen sitting across from Armin had heard enough and chimed in, “Cut the act, Old Man. You know we need all the help we can get these days.” As soon as he finished rebuffing his comrade, he stuffed a burnt sausage link into his mouth and started chewing noisily.

Stroud was originally ready to pass by the two and get his business over with, but after seeing that Armin didn’t protest, he leaned in with some interest. He’d already begun thinking about some ways to earn extra coin and this looked like a good opportunity to at least scrounge up some information.

“Oh? What’s the pay like for messengers working within the city limits?” he asked, casually.

In response to the question, Armin sighed and leaned back in his chair, raising his mug to his lips. But he didn’t speak.

Rather, it was the thin man who answered Stroud through another mouthful of food: “Well, it’s all the old-timers like Armin who have the pleasure of ferrying letters and notices around the outer city. Most of the new guys are stuck with the correspondence leaving Frostrane. Pay is pretty decent though — as the office is offering almost twice the normal rate for each delivery. Seems like everyone in the city has got something going on all of a sudden and needs to get out the word. It’s awfully fishy if you ask me…” he finished with a low grumble.

“Better keep your nose out of it, Tor — no matter how enticing the stench gets,” Armin reprimanded. The aged man scratched at his scalp, issuing a sigh before he finally shooed Stroud off, “If you can’t spare any time traveling out of the city just forget about it, kid.”

Unbothered, Stroud reached into his purse and pulled out a silver Mor before Armin had a chance to return to his meal. He rolled the conspicuous sliver of metal between his fingers, immediately catching the eyes of a number of the nearby couriers.

“I’m not from around here, so I wasn’t exactly looking for work in the first place. But I am in need of someone to point me toward the best botanists and local hunters…”

Tor promptly swallowed the spoonful of hard-boiled egg that had just been dangling in front of his mouth and looked at Stroud with eager eyes. Unfortunately for him, Armin snatched the coin with surprising speed.

“Heh, you came to the right man, kid. I’ve been working the streets of Frostrane for the past 15 years.” Armin’s sly and toothy grin stretched from ear to ear. “Best hunters around are definitely the Walkers. A lot of ‘em frequent Margo’s Well.” He gesticulated with enthusiasm while he continued on, “It’s a tavern not too far from here along the western wall. It’s a real... local joint, but you shouldn’t run into any trouble ‘long as you keep your head down and leave most of your coin at home. Breigr’s group hangs around there most evenings, and that’s who you’ll want to speak with...”

Thin tufts of facial hair slipped through Armin’s fingers as he paused to think with a far-off look in his eyes, “Botanists are a bit trickier. Most ‘em do business closer to the Verum, and the only one I’m really familiar with is Miss Harmont’s place… She’s a cranky old codger but she has a reputation for doing honest work.”

Stroud nodded along with the man’s explanation and pulled out a slip of paper once he’d finished. “Alright then. Mind marking them down for me?”

Armin grunted his agreement and fetched an inkwell and quill from a nearby group. He started sketching out a rough map of the area, noting down landmarks while using the Courier’s office as a focal point.

It was at this point that Tor was unable to continue suppressing his urge to join the conversation. “My older sister dabbled in Alchemy in the past...” he flouted as his knees bounced up and down beneath the table. “She used to always go to Mar Vincent’s shop near the west-central market.”

The man ignored Armin’s glare as his eyes remained fixed on Stroud. “His prices are higher than the rest, but my sis never went anywhere else because she said that he always had the best quality herbs and the widest selection.”

“I’ll be sure to take a look, thanks.” Stroud tipped his cap to the duo and handed each of them another coin after he received the shoddy map from Armin.

He was finally about to head over to hand off his letter when the older fellow stopped him with a serious look and a word of warning, “Be careful around Mar Vincent, if you visit. I’ve heard he’s a Magus that’s been hiding up north from his enemies. Those folks are dangerous, kid… You never know what might set them off.”

***

Strolling through a familiar section of the city, Stroud shook his head absentmindedly as he wove between the passing bodies.

The ramblings of the two couriers had raised his doubts, but the queue for outgoing mail at the office had been worse than he ever could have expected. Martin, the man running the operation, had warned him that it would be at least another week before his letter made it to the top of their list. Then, it would still take a few days of travel to arrive at the Baron’s estate.

He wasn’t exactly pressed for time regarding the delivery, but earlier was obviously better. Instead, most of his worry was related to the trustworthiness of the messengers.

Stroud had already avoided using the Sanctum’s exclusive mailing services because he wanted to keep the content of the letter as private as possible, but there was still a nagging worry the contents would be exposed given how many hands it would pass through. He was clueless as to how deep Lady Adelais’ or the Prince’s men had infiltrated into the communication networks — but he imagined that it would be an area of priority for them both.

Though, nothing could be done about it now. It was just another aspect of life he would have to adjust to and accept for what it was. Control and privacy were hard to come by in this world.

He needed to… let go in many ways, or the shadow of paranoia lingering behind him would rise from the earth and restrict him from making any progress forward. Stroud knew this well. He’d circled around many similar thoughts an uncountable number of times in the past weeks. It was just really hard to take that first step in the right direction mentally...

After a period of time, his ongoing battle with doubt and unrest came to a halt as he arrived in front of Harmont’s Alchemical Supplies. Stroud didn’t imagine himself actually purchasing much here. He mostly wanted to check this place out first so that he’d have a baseline to compare against Mar Vincent’s prices.

The soft jingle of a bell rang above his head as he entered, and a myriad of earthy and pungent smells assaulted his nose and lungs. Stroud pulled up his scarf to catch his breath and began moving between the aisles of long tables to inspect the shop’s wares.

There weren’t many live plants on display; instead, the rows were filled with small jars of seeds. Each vial had an index-sized piece of parchment lying in front of it that presented the herb’s name and gave a few details about the growing and care processes.

During his first few minutes of browsing, he completely ignored the petite, wizened woman who was closely following him around. Primarily because he was still struggling to open his mouth without immediately coughing or sneezing due to the haze of dust and pollen floating through the air.

“Have anything specific you’re looking for, young man?” The old crone finally broke the silence as she pinched her fingers impatiently.

Stroud paused his meandering and wiped at the corners of his watery eyes with a handkerchief. “The young Miss of my family instructed me to purchase some spiritual herbs for her practice…” he replied through short breaths, “If you know of any that are good for beginners… I’m open to suggestions.”

Miss Harmont disregarded his coughing and spluttering, gesturing for him to follow her to a corner of the room. The woman moved with short and rapid steps — almost like she was shuffling her feet rather than walking — as she led him to a counter that radiated a faint but familiar energy.

The table was low to the ground, like all the others, to account for the height of the proprietress, so Stroud had to bend over in order to read the descriptions of each herb. A quick scan actually yielded him a pleasant surprise. This little shop actually carried one of the herbs he needed for the Blood Steeping recipe.

Par Concordia: Most commonly used as a reagent in antidotes. Possesses a soothing aspect that aids the body in counteracting strong or harmful energies.

Stroud picked up the bottle, inspecting the seeds carefully while Miss Harmont’s beady eyes gleamed with anticipation.

“You’ve picked out a good one,” the woman croaked. “Most of the medicinal efficacy of the Concordia is concentrated in its pistil, but I might add that the leaves of the plant are also great for brewing a calming tea…”

Humming an acknowledgment, Stroud smiled and reached into his pouch of coins. “Madam has been quite stressed lately, so I’m glad to hear that. However, I didn’t see any price listed…?”

Miss Harmont spread her arms out wide and offered a helpless shrug. “I don’t get many customers looking for spiritual herbs. All the Magi and nobles reside in the inner city and make most of their purchases directly from the Sanctum.” She paused, twiddling her bony figures as she looked deeply at the bottle in his hands. “Three gold Mors for the lot. Or… I can sell them to you by the seed — for four silver each.”

“Deal.” Stroud agreed immediately, pressing three gleaming gold coins into her palm as they shook hands. He had counted 10 seeds in total inside the bottle. And at a going exchange rate of 10 silver Mors per gold Mor, Harmont was offering what he believed to be a fair deal.

Additionally, each round of Blood Steeping required three shares of Concordia. So even this number of seeds might not fulfill his needs in the long run. He was willing to splurge a bit considering he didn’t know when he’d find this kind of opportunity again.

Suddenly feeling much better about his prospects, Stroud smiled warmly and bought a few bottles of mundane herb seeds, some of which were from Maeve’s list.

When all was said and done, he shook hands with the shopkeep again. “It was a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Harmont. Should the Madam be in need of more herbs, I’ll be sure to come back again.”

The old woman stood by the door and propped it open for him, returning his grin. “My, such a polite young man. You’re always welcome to stop by, and please, pass along my good wishes to your house’s Mistress.”

Stroud placed a hand across his chest and performed a polite bow. “I’ll be sure to. But… before I depart, might I ask you to keep an eye out for these herbs for me?” He procured a copy of the list of ingredients he needed. It included a few extraneous herbs, along with everything required for Blood Steeping except the Vitum Herb and Beast blood — which he was wary of revealing his need of.

“Of course, of course…” Miss Harmont received the note and gave it a brief glance, not giving any indication of surprise or apprehension. “How should I get in contact with you should I have any luck. To be honest, I only recognize a few of these herbs by name and haven’t actually come into contact with them myself.”

“Well, I was referred here by Armin at the Courier’s Office…” Stroud stepped forward and pressed his shoulder against the heavy door relieving the elderly lady of the burden. “If you find anything — leave a message with him. I’ll stop by the office from time to time to check in over the next couple of weeks.”

Wrinkles of surprise emerged as Miss Harmont scrunched up her face. “Armin is it… Sure, that’s no problem.”

“Perfect, then I’ll be off. I wish you a pleasant rest of your day, Miss.” Miss Harmont waved distractedly in reply as Stroud tipped his cap and left the shop. Her eyes had a distant and forlorn look as she disappeared behind the door, accompanied by a muffled jingling of the bell.

Stroud immediately returned to the streets, ready to seek out Mar Vincent’s after carefully securing the bottles inside his coat. It was nearing mid-afternoon, and the walkways were even more crowded as many laborers sought out a meal or a quiet spot to rest. And it came as no surprise that the west-central market was one such popular location.

There wasn’t much shade, but there were plenty of benches and tables surrounding the fountain for people to lounge, and the quality of the restaurants was rather high. However, Stroud felt a prickling displeasure as he entered the area. He still clearly remembered the events of his last visit, and as such, gave a wide berth to the shop of the fat restaurateur.

Young and old, rich and poor, all manner of people came and went as the market bustled and eventually began to clear up as the shadows cast by the sun stretched towards the east. And yet, despite his long time spent wandering, Stroud still hadn’t found a single clue as to where Mar Vincent’s shop exactly was. Tor had only mentioned that it was located in this general area.

Somewhat frustrated, he decided to approach a particularly well-dressed and groomed man to ask for directions. And as luck would have it, the guy was a frequent customer of Vincent’s and happily pointed the way for Stroud.

The rumored Magus’ shop was located just off the main square, tucked behind the store that sold the impressive gadgets Stroud liked to admire. It made him wonder if the two businesses were connected somehow, and of course, he made sure to sneak a few glances inside the storefront as he moved around it.

At first, Stroud was doubtful of the veracity of the direction giver’s words, because as he proceeded deeper into the alley beside the building, he had yet to find any signboards or markers that were indicative of any form of organization.

A few doors lined the walls on either side of the alley, but they were all worn and cracked, a few even hanging off their hinges. Stroud loitered around briefly, scraping some of the dirt and grime from the bottom of his boots against the stone bricks as his mind raced through his options. He didn’t want to just randomly start checking the entrances and was instead about ready to turn back and clarify the shop’s exact location when a woman suddenly emerged from the door nearest him.

They both startled upon seeing each other, and Stroud could only offer a wry smile as the dark-haired lady squared off from him warily.

“Ah, I’m… looking for Mar Vincent’s,” he explained, weakly. “I was told it’s around here.”

The woman’s posture noticeably eased, but she had already pulled the hood of her mantle forward to hide most of her face. She didn’t speak and simply pointed him to whence she came.

Stroud voiced his thanks and approached the door slowly. But as soon as his gaze left the other party, she swept past him briskly, carried out of the alley in a flash by her long legs.

Finding the encounter altogether odd, Stroud shook his head and entered the store with even more caution in his heart. Mar Vincent did, in fact, seem to be hiding from something just based on the location he had chosen to set up shop. And while the man he’d met out in the market seemed friendly enough, the latest encounter had set Stroud on edge.

Initially, he had an inclination to just turn around and head home. After all, he’d already been successful at Miss Harmont’s. But… if Mar Vincent was truly a Magus like Armin had said, then he should be much more familiar with spiritual herbs and their growing process. It was a chance to gain information, and potentially elixirs, that Stroud felt he couldn’t pass up; because just getting his hands on the seeds wasn’t enough.

Gathering his courage, he pushed forward.

Only the low groan of the door creaking open announced his entrance this time. And no one inside greeted his arrival. It was utterly quiet and the interior was rather dark. Stroud’s eyes took a few moments to adjust as he stood like a statue in the entryway.

When he could finally see well enough to observe the space, he nearly cursed out loud at the woman who had sent him inside.

It was empty.

There were no tables or shelves — or even a shopkeep. It was an altogether blank and sterile place. The only sign of life was the lack of dust covering the slats of wood lining the floor.

“Hello…?” Stroud called out.

No answer.

“Hello!” he cried out again, much louder this time.

“...Yes, yes, what is it?” A faint voice sounded from the back of the room as a tattered curtain hanging over an empty doorway was pushed aside. The man who emerged soon after appeared far outside of Stroud’s expectations.

He was fairly young, and handsome, dressed neatly in grey linen pants and a long dark coat. Mar Vincent’s dark eyes swirled with a hint of blazing orange as he and Stroud stared at one another, each with an ounce of surprise in their measured gaze.

“Who are you?” The alchemist asked, slicking back his long brown hair.

“M-My name is Stroud… I’m looking for a few spiritual herbs at the behest of my family’s young Miss, and I was directed to your store after some asking around.”

Mar Vincent’s posture stiffened as he took a few steps forward. “I see…” he muttered and held out a hand. After a few moments of awkward silence, he frowned and barked out, “List, boy! Give me the list! Haven’t you heard the rules…?”

“Ah, my apologies!” Stroud blurted out as he began fumbling around in his pockets. He was still in possession of the list he’d received from Maeve, but unfortunately, he didn’t have another copy of the one containing the herbs he needed for Blood Steeping after he’d given it to Miss Harmont. Therefore, he could only smile awkwardly and ask for a writing utensil.

“Why are all my customers so ill-prepared these days…” the man grumbled, but he handed over a thin tool similar to a ball-point pen despite his complaints.

With haste, Stroud narrowed down the remainder of Maeve’s list and included his own. He also made sure to add a few random herbs into the mix that he’d spotted at Miss Harmont’s in an attempt to obscure some of his true purpose.

There was no way for him to know if Mar Vincent knew the recipe for Blood Steeping, but in turn, Stroud also had no idea how valuable the other herbs he needed were. The fact that Miss Harmont had only heard of them in passing had already raised some suspicions.

Stroud fidgeted uncomfortably as the man scanned the note now in his hands. It was also at this point that he could confirm that Mar Vincent was indeed a Magus. Some of his aura suddenly began leaking out as his eyes darted over the slip of paper.

Hot and tempestuous gusts soon flitted about the room, accompanied by the faint smell of smoke.

Stroud loosened the scarf around his neck, but he was unable to escape the stifling, fiery winds as the pair of blazing eyes across from him suddenly narrowed.

“Who sent you?”

The question rang out like the toll of a heavy bell, clear and crisp, its deep reverberations echoing through the air. Both Stroud’s mind and his heart froze in tandem.

Not good. He wasn’t given the chance to respond as the man stepped forward and the pressure surged.

“Was it the prince? I thought I made it very clear to both him and Lady Adelais: I will not be a participant in their struggle.”

Trembling and drenched in sweat, Stroud fought to remain standing. “N-Neither, Lord Magus!” he croaked out, his throat hoarse and constricted by the fumes.

Mar Vincent flicked the note in his hand and it burnt to ashes in the blink of an eye. “It must have been one of them... or there’s no way you or your Miss would have knowledge or need of the ingredients on that list.”

Gritting his teeth, Stroud sunk to his knees, no longer able to bear the pressure. He feared he would burst into flames just like that slip of parchment should he speak any further. His whole body felt brittle and combustible like a parched log of wood.

But he didn’t see any other way out than the truth. “I’ve signed a binding oath with Lady Adelais!”

His head was lowered and his chest heaved up and down, but he was still alive, so Stroud continued: “As part of our deal, she gave me a… medicinal recipe. Since then, I’ve been trying to hunt down the ingredients. I didn’t intend to imply anything with my inquiry.”

“Well, kid… You won’t find what you’re looking for here…”

The torrent of scorching heat abated and Stroud mustered his strength to look up. An empty room greeted his eyes once more.

“Get out!”

A harsh voice lashed across his exposed face like a whip, sending him tumbling backward. Stroud felt greatly aggrieved by the situation, but he had no other choice than to obey.

Burying his frustrations deeper in his heart, he stumbled out the door, shutting it softly behind him.