“They're still chasing us! Why won't those damn things give up?” Matt heard from behind him.

“Are kobolds supposed to be such dicks? I thought they hated the sun,” he yelled back as a bright flash whizzed past just missing his head.

Turning, he saw his friend, his travel companion, firing bolts from his fingers as fast as he could. They’d been through so much. Their adventures to dungeons, like this last one, sometimes brought them jewels and gold, while other times they found themselves running like cowards from a band of angry kobolds trying to save their asses. Watching the power in his friend magic reminded Matt just how far they’d come together.

They continued to run until they were both exhausted. Finally, dripping with sweat and blurry eyed, they stopped. Looking back over his shoulder he took a quick count. Only ten or so left. They had managed to reduce the number by almost half, a more manageable fight. Pulling his daggers, he took a deep breath and turned to see if his friend is ready as well.

Matt froze. His companion’s face… it was a blur; he couldn’t make out any of its features. With the attackers still growing closer, he searched his memory. Why couldn’t he remember his friend’s face? Who was this? Where were they? And more importantly, if he couldn’t remember the face, did even know who this was? What made him think it was a friend?

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