Kylien the innkeeper rounded the corner. "Are you ready for the funeral."
Gala buried her hands in the deep folds of the CloakWing. "As ready as I'll ever be." She turned towards the others. No funny business
she mouthed at Sul.
As the PortalDreamers took their place in the percession, Galadriel glanced around for Valzaan. "Guess he pulled a Gandalf al la Prancing Pony,
" she whispered to Trav.
The chief elder spoke somberly. "Allfather, we do not understand why You let this happen to one of Your servants, but we know Your hand is over all Kirthanin. Now we give back to You Your servant Joraiem. Protect and comfort his wife Wylla until the day You make all things new!"
Gala's gaze flickered to Wylla's softly rounding belly. Had she told anyone yet? What would her parents say when she returned to Amaan Sul? For half a minute, Galadriel reconsidered her descision to return home. Then a harsh wind cut throught the CloakWing, shoving particles of ice into her eyes.
"Come on," she whispered to Trav. "I'm ready to go home."
Gala stood on the edge of the beach, surrounded by snow-cloaked dunes. "See you soon--in seventeen years," She reached out and hugged Trav. "All times are soon, right?"
She turned to the others. "I was thinking Trav could send me a Bag-mail when it's time to return--that is if it works across stories. If anyone else is coming back, you could give me a contact point so I could pass it on."
President and Founder of Twilight is Overrated Club
The Traveler as Vice President
Current Members: Galadriel, Trav,Eberwolf, Aljeron12, Sulmandir, vareth in silico
Purl, LovelornLark, Mindarin, Anna-Light Warrior, Caeli
There are three rules of writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.
— W. Somerset Maugham