Zendedari was surveying his surroundings now, a peculiar glow in his black eyes.
I know this place. Something happened here a long time ago that I should remember.
His hand went of its own volition to his throat, tracing the thin, almost nonexistent white line curving around his jugular.
Only a severe mortal wound can leave a scar.
He murmured it aloud under his breath, as if to himself.
Caitlin remained very quiet, holding herself still, wanting to allow any memory possible to come to Zendedari.
I have been here, some time ago. Perhaps a quarter of a century.
His head ached, but the memory shimmered, solidified instead of slipping away. His black eyes moved restlessly over the clearing.
There was a fight here. A vampire, high and powerful from afresh kill. I had never fought one before; it was my first time. I was not prepared for his strength, his ferocity. Maybe I just could not believe one of my own kind, even turned, would do such evil.
