[Arry]

. . . missed . . . he murmured, the last breath trailing out softly from his lips.

The pain was gone. And the darkness that had pushed in from the corners of his eyes fled, dissipated like some mist at the sun’s rise.

There on the white sands, made whiter by the green countryside stretching far behind it, was the welcoming tower, the solemn song of a silver harp winding down from a high window. Behind, the curtain of golden rain closed again on the outer seas . . . some sad, imperfect dream, now sundered from him.

‘Come, little brother!’ Carandû’s hand reached out to him, his face wreathed in smiles. ‘I’ve missed you . . .’