in a few areas, so he decides randomly on one of the larger ones. Right or wrong, it would do as the spot. It didn’t really matter either way. His memory of events only what had been replayed to him in dreams, so he wasn’t really sure how accurate any of it was.
He notices the outline of a shape he is familiar with in the gutter and runs to it. Kneeling down in the blood and grime he pulls it up from the mess and wipes it clean. It’s Moe’s sword!
It was just lying here, discarded after he’d been taken away. Thrown to the gutter like trash. He slides it from its sheath to examine it and carefully wipes the blade clean using a piece of torn clothing from some unfortunate soul and looks around again. Then slings it over his shoulder. He’d give it a good home.