The Man in Front of Roland

Roland hadn't smelled or heard this new man coming. Roland felt a name on the tip of his tongue, but it just wouldn't come. The fellow had a lopsided, squarish jaw with a very deliberate five o'clock shadow. His red hair was tangled into dreadlocks that were more the result of inattention than stylistic choice. He wore nothing but a pair of red leather chaps and a broad, calm smile. A string of fragmented memories ran through his mind. These memory fragments were all somehow tied to the man in front of him. It took Roland a moment, but as soon as he got a full look at those cold gray eyes, the