-I wonder if there are any ball courts here...- Al is lost in thought, mind drifting back to the childhood days of play. That was before the incident of course. Such a tragic thing; yet it had set him upon this journey. He would pay off his debt one day. Until then, the woman would always haunt him. Unable to stop the flow of memories, Al is launched into his past.<br/><br/>The washerwoman had always been in the river when he played with his friends. They would kick the ball back and forth, between the posts, but Al always stopped and looked at her. The village had ostracized her; she was outcast, feared for magic, and everyone said that she danced with demons. But to Al, she was a kindly woman who gave him a pat on the head when no one was around before sending away. He didn't even know her name.<br/><br/>One day the villager's fears had come to the bursting point. They had gathered at dusk and banded against her. She was only one woman, and could do little to stop them; to her credit, no magic was brought against them. No demons came to her aid. Al had seen her the next day, tied up to a post by the river. She said nothing, saw nothing with her eyes tightly shut. But he saw the tears slide down her cheeks, and some part of his young mind understood that she was grieving terribly. The village chief had declared that she would stay like this, until starvation proved her innocent of being an abomination.<br/><br/>Al, of course, had immediately thought to help her. He would smuggle her food, or maybe cut her free and run away with her. So his mind had been at ease, even hopeful, as he walked to the shore that night. But the fates had other plans. He noticed something odd when he came upon the bank. The river was in an uproar, as if in high flood; but the season was entirely wrong for that! Heart beating like tom-toms at a festival he rushed. Barely his mind registered the tangled corpse of the man sent to guard her strewn about the trees. He had eyes only for her. And she was not alone.<br/><br/>A large grotesque Thing toward over her. In the half-light it appeared to be a crocodile and bird at the same time, gloating over its kill. She had been ripped from the post and was pushing feebly at its maw, still silent, visibly straining under the weight of halted screams. It ended even as Al rushed in, desperation giving him a chance to do something, anything! But it was all for naught. The vile beast slithered back into the river. Al knelt by the woman, seeing her wounds and knowing there was no hope. She lived, but not for much longer. With faltering breath, she told him of her life.<br/><br/>She had been passed the right of warder from her mother. Her charge was to perform certain rites by the riverside, protecting the village and herself by appeasing the demon. The village could never understand. But she had been seen, dancing in the moonlight, by a passing boat. The rumors had started, and by leaping and bounding over the heads of small men, had ended with tonight. She had struck a final bargain, her life in exchange for the safety of the river. The demon accepted, and the contract was sealed. With her last gasp she had but two words: "Thank you."<br/><br/>Soon after, Al had gone to the monks of the Eastern Temple...<br/><br/>With a start, Al stirs from his reverie. -Best not to dive deeply in the past, lest the demons catch you unawares.- He instead turns to his meditations for comfort, still resting on the wall.