36
Farewells
The grooms lifted Telurian into his saddle. The mage went along limply, almost sliding off the horse altogether before the two young men got him properly situated. They lingered for a few moments, watching him warily as though expecting him to slump over and fall off any second.
And small wonder. The mage just sat there, staring blankly at the area in front of himself, his face expressionless and his mouth hanging slightly open. A drop of drool slowly began to accumulate at the corner of his mouth, but he did not lift a hand to stop it. In fact, his hands never left his saddle horn; he had not even taken hold of the horse's reins.
If it were not for the dark blue robes, almost black, that he wore, and the golden necklace around his neck that announced his status as a membe
