Ten years was not long in contrast to their own longevity, but for him it had seemed an eternity. Each night he would lie in silence, reaching out to her through their dreams. He would visualise the curves of her face, the sound of her laugh, the touch of her flesh, all the time hating himself for not being able to save her.
“I've been reading my journals.” Taya reached out as if to place a hand upon his arm, pulling back before committing. She had been in Eremalche for some time now and, whilst uncertain of exactly how long, she was all too aware of the absence of one person. The one she had longed to see most.
It had been more difficult than she had expected to embrace this city. Harder to feel the solidity of the ground at her feet, to savour the familiar scents lingering in the air.
