an observer in a land of none

There was silence for a while. But then came the question; maladroit and uncertain, but with clear determination, and a blooming curiosity. “Who are you?”He blinked. The absurdity of the query made laughter — the sort that grips you ruthlessly by the chest and throws your head back — climb up his throat, held back only by his sunburnt cheeks. And yet it was a fair thing to ask; he was the stranger, after all, passing through lands not his own.“Oh, I’ve many names.” He finally smiled, sharp-toothed and sly. And he had; nicknames and true names, barbed insults and cautionary titles. “My friends call me Scar, though.”—Or: Scar, between Hermitcraft worlds, takes a trip and makes a new friend.