When he replied, he had to force out each word as though he were speaking a language totally alien to his own. ‘Just a travelling companion,’ he managed, though his voice rang strange in his own ears. He was aware of a scornful laugh and a coarse exchange going on behind him in response, but it was as meaningless as the rattle of branches in a wind-shaken tree.
Pinnatte was speaking. ‘I’m not sure how I feel,’ came the words. Atlon clung to them to keep his mind clearly in this room. ‘One minute I’m fine — the next, I don’t know. I’m somewhere else. And I keep thinking about that dream. I...’ He stopped and looked away, distracted. Atlon felt as though he were facing a great wind.
Rinter looked helplessly at Pinnatte. ‘Have you seen Barran yet?’ he asked with that concerned, patronizing
