The Desperate Man

I saw a man of the South today. There was no mistaking him: thick beard and eyes full of fear. He came not seeking something, he was running from it. As he ran, he cast off his garments, as if they were somehow contaminated. I thought for a moment that he might be mad, until I saw the golden crest upon his discarded trappings. I knew, then, that he was shedding any trace of his homeland, just as I had.