Disclaimer: Wholly original work.
Summary: Sine bides his time.
Neither Ammaeia nor Minew-in ever asked what happened to the few coins given to him, and Sine was never forthcoming with the information. Not that he wouldn't tell, of course, if asked. But neither ever asked so he did not tell.
Free enough to spend his time wandering the markets of Ruame and Ojismer, Sine carefully looked for relics, for memories... Perhaps once or twice a month he had some luck and found another piece to add to the collection he had started so many centuries before. It wasn't his, of course - he had no need for posessions of any sort. Both food and sleep were choices, not requirements, so the thought of worldly goods was nearly silly to the mist-born creature.
No, these baubles were for another, one so in love with a place and time that he could not bear to be parted from it, one who gave up his own life when it came down to it.
Sine picked up a small ring, a woman's ring most likely, and examined it. The merchant paid him little attention - everyone had seen the pale, cloaked man wander the streets for so long that it seemed he was nearly a ghost.
There was the mark of the Northland Army, yes, and also two flanking marks, very specific... One who'd seen the ring before would certainly remember its owner. A few coins later it was his, slid onto his smallest finger.
Why he did this, he did not know, whether to feed another's obsession or his own. For truly, he also didn't know who was really living in the past.
Drink Lemonade! Tip Your Waitress!