He sat with that for a long moment. Then Morwenna Nightwing said her name, and the ambiguity he had cultivated so carefully over so many years simply evaporated.
It didn't crumble and it didn't burn. It just left, quietly, the way a fog lifts when the wind finally decides to move.
He stood up. He turned toward the sound of combat to the north.
"Damn it," he said, with feeling.
He checked his blade. And then he walked.
In the market square, Brant Hollow stood paralyzed as the golem loomed over him like a mountain of sentient rock.
It had been advancing for nearly a minute with a grinding, inevitable approach that had rooted him completely in place, every survival instinct he possessed screaming two contradictory things simultaneously: run and you will not outrun it.
His mouth had gone dry. The weapon in his hand felt like a child's toy.
Valentina's voice hit him between one heartbeat and the next.
"I know you are afraid."
Something loosened in his chest.
