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Eodwine smiled. "No, Degas. Not now. You see, I have had dreams. Dreams of my wife, whom for fourteen years I have thought dead, killed by marauding Dunlendings. But these dreams, Degas-" Eodwine's eyes glistened and his face became taut with sudden passion. "-she comes to me in my dreams not as I knew her, but as one who has aged as have I!" Eodwine stopped of a sudden and stared earnestly at Degas, then relaxed a little, shaking his head and chuckling ruefully.
"Lord?" Degas prompted.
Eodwine met his eyes. "It is not proof that she lives. Well I know it. Therefore I must go to Dunland. Not yet, but some time soon. I must go there anyway to see to the case of Manawyth, but now I have the greater urge to go. So go I shall." Eodwine turned to Saeryn, allowing the warmth he felt for her to show on his face. "Yes, Degas, your sister is-" he paused "-dear to me. In a way no woman has been in many a year. If not for my dreams, I would seek your favor. But for now I cannot." He faced Degas again. "Not until I know my wife is dead-" he paused again and tears appeared ready to spill, and his voice trembled "-or if my dear Kéðra lives."
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