He comes to me with shadows in his eyes. We sit with our backs to a stone statue, facing out over the river, but Galdorion's eyes are distant, looking at something I cannot see. His conversation is hesitant, his smile as brittle as glass. It is as though a cloud has passed across the sun, although the dawn still seems as bright as ever. We have walked these paths before – I know what is coming almost before Galdorion opens his mouth to tell me. I sit silently, listening, hoping he cannot see the dismay in my face.
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