Coarse hair grew from his unshaven face, and his flesh was stained with blood and grime. He looked gaunt, his face weathered from the sun and the dust of the road. And his hair looked terrible; knotted and dirty, it hung loose about his face, giving him the appearance of some wild creature.
He pulled up a chair and sat heavily on its pillowed surface. This must, he thought, have been a girl's room at one time, with all the cosmetics and other mysterious womanly items on the desk.
He pulled a horn comb from a small jar and set to work on his hair, slowly undoing the damage done from days of neglect. He smiled as he worked, remembering once when his mother had told him that it was the faeries who tied knots in your hair at night. So many fond memories. Long ago she had brushed his hair every night, encouraging him to grow it out after he started his training under Asaki. He had been only eight.
"You are becoming a warrior now, Aryn," she said. "Only the warriors wear their hair long. There is strength in it. It is a great thing you are doing, learning the ways of fighting." She came around in front of him then, holding the comb. She squatted down and he looked into her beautiful brown eyes, peering out from the brown curly locks of hair falling about her face.
But such a serious look in those eyes.
"Only remember that stronger is the force of love, of kindness, and of peace. Do not let what you learn blind you to that, my son." Then she smiled and pecked him lightly on the lips. They laughed together as she brushed his hair down into his eyes.
His father did not approve. One night he came home drunk, and noticed that Aryn was growing his hair long.
"What is that?" he roared. "You fancy yourself a warrior, boy?"
The blow was hard and brutal, and Aryn started crying at once. His father fell upon him, pinning him to the ground. In the dim light Aryn saw a flash of steel -- a knife in his father's hand.
Aryn screamed, sure that he was about to die.
His mother ran into the room and screamed as well.
"Tom! No! What are you doing?!"
But he only looked at her with very dangerous eyes.
"Shut up, wench. You put my son up to this, didn't you?"
The knife came down and ripped painfully through Aryn's hair, making him cry out even louder. Then his father was up and off of him, placing the knife back in its sheath. He flung the fistful of hair onto the ground.