The deeply tanned man, taller than average, wearing only a loincloth, stands silently on the bank of the lake, a fishing rod in his hand. His viridian-swirled twilight grey eyes, windows into his once deeply troubled soul, appear far older than his actual age of forty-two. His long midnight black hair, braided and bound with an old bowstring, trails down past his chest and is streaked with silver, a bit more silver than a year ago. His well muscled shoulders and arms glisten in the early morning sun. He bears a faint, curved scar just below his right eye, which he occasionally reaches up to touch, perhaps to reassure himself that it is still there, and a smile touches the corners of his mouth. The left side of his face is nearly covered, from forehead to jawline, with a multitude of ritualistic scars, all appearing to be quite old. A huge black-tipped twilight grey wolf sits at his side, her golden eyes watching the man closely.
The line twitches as a fish takes the bait. The tall man jerks the rod to set the hook and the fight is on...
It doesn't matter to me one bit who wins this battle; it's just me and the fish and even if I win this one I'll let him go. I find it strangely peaceful to be locked in a struggle that isn't life or death and to never worry about the outcome. I am finally free.
It was a long, hard road... fighting the Shadows, Althedeus, Elithain Cross, Talador, the witch, Raznel, with her hordes of minions, watching Walkar fall into darkness; as well as issues much closer to home, the maiming of Phever, her healing and recovery, my own failures to both protect her and to keep my own mind free from shadow, and the loss of very dear friends. I needed this rest and the peace it offered me. I was physically and emotionally spent, I had nothing left to offer anyone and, in the shape I was in, my decision making was poor and I was more hindrance than help to my fellow defenders.
I feel stronger now, more like the "me" of old, the fire has returned... and something else. I have never had such clarity of thought nor such a burning desire to see my home, the Sea of Fire. Never before, since leaving the sands, have I wanted to return to the place of my birth and training so badly; now it is consuming my thoughts, I dream of it almost nightly, and thankfully they are dreams, not the nightmares of before, when Shadow invaded in my mind, gnawed at my spirit, broke my heart, and darkened my soul.
The path to recovery has been long and at times very difficult. I have stood aside and let recent events run their course, something completely foreign to me but I really had no choice. To fight in the condition I was in would have done more harm than good; the last year and a half has taken a horrible toll. My return to active participation will be slow, I will ease into things, take my time.
I have chosen a different course this time. My destiny has led me to a fork in the road and a choice had to be made. I have chosen the path of my birth mother, I will embrace her legacy, which I have spent years avoiding. I will see rather than seek, I will listen to the wind rather than the multitudes, I will be that which I would have become had my life not changed so quickly and radically all those years ago.
The fish continues to fight, but it is tiring; I will win this round. I feel a strange sense of sadness as it comes to the surface, a nice fish, not a trophy, but a good catch nonetheless and I bring it in close. The battle over, I reach down and grab the fish, quickly removing the hook from its lip and gently return it to the water, lightly stroking its belly until it swims off slowly; perhaps we will battle again another day... it seems there is always another battle to fight.
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