In the cool early morning, Alexian had made his way down to the river. People were there, but he was here once a month, sometimes more. They were used to him, and he mostly ignored them, drifting like an ageless spectre through their lives. He was a story by now, cast as either hero or villain, depending on the time of day. Alexian used the time to soak himself from head to toe, so it would take him longer to heat up during the day.<br/><br/>A small boy ran past him, splashing in the waters of the Nile, and the scent of his blood reached Alexian. Along with the thirst he'd locked away in his lifetimes of solitary wandering. He felt like a tiger among sheep, and he didn't very much like it anymore. The sheepskin costume was hot and itchy.