A return of sorts
A young man appears, biting his lip with concentration for a moment before looking up with a small grin. He's dark and slender, about eighteen years old. There's a levity and wisdom that those who remember him won't recognise, but also a sense of a heavy burden lifted for good. As he speaks, it's evident that he's trying to seem grave and dignified, but there's a brightness to him that he can't hide.
He bites his lip again before speaking with a hopeful grin.
Are my brother and sister here? Teyrnon told me that this should be right, but...
Typist: Tabor dan Ivor. Not quite back from the dead, but definitely back. Just older. And... without any conscious memory of this place.
He bites his lip again before speaking with a hopeful grin.
Are my brother and sister here? Teyrnon told me that this should be right, but...
Typist: Tabor dan Ivor. Not quite back from the dead, but definitely back. Just older. And... without any conscious memory of this place.