(no subject)
Will stepped from his bedroom into the brief flicker of nothingness between Earth and Milliways. And passed through that door into the country beyond the North Wind.
And months passed.
And, the instant after he left, Will returns.
He stands, looking around his old familiar bedroom: everything just as it was, from the crystal Sign paperweight on the desk (Moiraine's present for Christmas two years ago) to the old model ship in a bottle next to the carved box that holds his letters from Stephen.
There's no dust; of course not. Not a minute has passed here.
An Old One moves freely in time, immune to paradox. It is part of why Will can live his mortal life, for now.
"Will!" his mother calls up the stairs, and Will starts a little; it's another moment of jarring familiarity, after so long. "Will, you left your book on the table."
Will allows himself another second to stare at his room, at the small picture of an apple tree above the nightstand. Max painted it years ago, and was bemused at Will's instant fondness for the quick watercolour. Then he strides to the door and leans out. "I'll be down in a minute," he calls, and everything snaps back into normality; the part of him that is always an Old One recedes inside him, and Will is home.
And months passed.
And, the instant after he left, Will returns.
He stands, looking around his old familiar bedroom: everything just as it was, from the crystal Sign paperweight on the desk (Moiraine's present for Christmas two years ago) to the old model ship in a bottle next to the carved box that holds his letters from Stephen.
There's no dust; of course not. Not a minute has passed here.
An Old One moves freely in time, immune to paradox. It is part of why Will can live his mortal life, for now.
"Will!" his mother calls up the stairs, and Will starts a little; it's another moment of jarring familiarity, after so long. "Will, you left your book on the table."
Will allows himself another second to stare at his room, at the small picture of an apple tree above the nightstand. Max painted it years ago, and was bemused at Will's instant fondness for the quick watercolour. Then he strides to the door and leans out. "I'll be down in a minute," he calls, and everything snaps back into normality; the part of him that is always an Old One recedes inside him, and Will is home.