Sevaan frowned with despair. He had traveled all of this way, his heart gladdened to meet an old friend. Hope for the revival of the Alliance kept him warm during brisk wagon rides. Now his age-worn bones were stiff and sore.
Before departing, he shouted at Dwyn’s front door, “If you change your mind, I’ll be staying at the Tarberry Inn until the morning . . .
“I know things have been rough for you, Dwyn, and I’m truly sorry that Yshana was the one we lost. But if my suspicions turn out to be true, then she’ll have died in vain, for nothing, if this goes unchecked.” He pocketed the lightrod, then turned around and left.
The door felt hard against his back. Dwyn gradually lowered to the floor, knees bent and arms wrapping around legs. He sat there for a long time in the dark, until he could feel the creeping scintilla of sunbeams crawl up his forearm. The window told him that it was sunrise.
He began to crawl like a beetle along floor, sought shelter under the table like a beaten dog. A papery wad nudged his hand. Hesitantly he picked up the flier, unfolded it.
‘The World’s Greatest Illusionist of All Time.’
Dwyn reminisced. Flashbacks and memories pervaded his mind: thoughts of Brendy their many adventures together among the Alliance, the look on Yshana’s face the first time she ever tried eating dwarven grout, how she vehemently vowed never to do such a thing again, long talks around campfires, everyone singing and laughing along with Roxis. The man could never carry a tune, but he never cared.
. . . Memories.