The pale golden curtain, like a barrier separating reality from illusion, silently closed up beneath the golden oak tree, Gawain's figure disappearing amidst the swirling fallen leaves, leaving the square tranquil once more.
Beside the square table, the oldest god and the deity governing nature and magic withdrew their gaze. Amon shook his head slightly and muttered, "He really can't keep still..."
"If he ever actually gets some rest, we probably wouldn't have the leisure to waste time here," the Goddess of Magic said casually, then glanced at Enya beside her, "He's heading to Talronde... Don't you have any thoughts on that?"
