There was a second lie the half-dragon was thoroughly good at keeping; however, its success was based more on the lack of inquiries than anything else: he did not hoard. People would assume this way or that way and he would never offer comment either way or else betray said secret. His self-awareness regarding his inability to tell a convincing lie was intact.
Under the wooden planks of the cabin he had created were buried two large chests of iron of wood, securely locked despite the chances of some random passerby prying up wood and digging them up. One could never be too sure, too secure, when dealing with sentimentality. The coins could be taken for all he cared, or so he had convinced himself, but the rest of the things were for him to deal with. These things that were material objects once scattered and buried throughout the forest and had been collected and moved here only months ago when he built this place. He had convinced himself it was if he needed them. In case the dead rose from their graves. In case the darkest depths of the forest decided to take Myrkentown by some unrelenting storm of blood and thew. He was good at lying to himself, at least, for some time. For someone that would consider going so far to find closure he was always so reluctant to discard the things close to him that he kept as reminders. Then again, wasn't he supposed to use them when he took his pilgrimage?
“Although if I believed for even two heartbeats together that you were leaving with the idea of getting your silly arse killed, I’d hamstring you in your sleep.”
Those words weighed far heavier than he'd admit because she had read him far too accurately. It wasn't so much suicide as a suicide mission, something he would be foolish to believe he'd come back from in one piece. The worth she put in him that day nearly erased the concept from his mind. Apparently he was more than what he was and the violent trip for closure became such a moot point he hadn't given it another thought until he considered preparing for a different journey. These things he had sorted through and pulled up from the chests were sold to merchants and smiths in town with the promise of smelting the steel down to scrap over the last week. Remnants of his time as a man with martial needs they were and while he wasn't quite sure what he was these days, what he is, he sure it didn't have anything to do with these any longer.
Discarding the reminders and lies to himself was an odd feeling that wasn't unwelcome but only time would tell if it would make a real difference. There was no guarantee but in the end there wasn't any regarding the pilgrimage he had previously considered either. Did this count as closure? It was a question only he could answer: he wouldn't tell anyone else of what he had kept over all these years. Was there shame in hording or that sort of sentimentality over something he disliked so much? Perhaps, he felt, and had no intention of sharing. Regardless, the only material things that still existed from his previous life were the robes he had worn to court: donated and transformed into something entirely different by the woman he was coming to rendezvous with now.
It was early morning; his idea in spite of his preference for travelling at night, for what he silently assumed was for her sake. The spring sun would give some discomfort but he would do his best not to mention it until it was absolutely necessary. The half-dragon was dressed a commonly as ever in dark leathers that had seen recent and thorough cleaning for the trip with a pristine and new cloak of forest green wool to offer perpetual shade. He was not armed with his bow in case they came upon Catch on the way out of the woods. A temporary one could be purchased later. He expected interference from the addled giant and knew better to agitate him by having the thing with him. Over each shoulder were similar satchels: one heavy and full of coin for the journey, the other packed tightly with rations and a change or two of travelling garments. It was more than he needed but with some time to prepare what was the harm in over-preparing?
Hood up to comfort his eyes from the rising sun the half-dragon had stopped just shy of the brambled entrance he had become familiar with over the past months and slipped a satchel from his shoulder to shake quietly before it. He wore a mischievous sort of grin in his curiosity of the occupant's reaction to the alien noise out here in the woods.
Jingle, jingle.