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The world was grey and cold, swimming and vague in the pale light. Lissi fell to her knees and wept out her sorrow, her sobs low and anguished. Something had broken within her, and her heart was desolate.
When she finally raised her head, her features were once again still and calm. But there was something stoic in that calmness that had never been there before. She gazed motionlessly across the moonlit land.
Carthor was gone. This was truly the end. Their fragile new regard, stricken by Brander's death, had withered when Carthor informed her he was joining the king. Perhaps he saw it as his duty, Lissi thought apathetically. She had disagreed - Family before country! she had cried out - but anger had fled with her tears. Now it was time to mourn. A time to mourn for their love, for their son, for what might have been.
Lissi sighed, a tiny sigh, and gazed up at the moon. She saw the path set before her with little liking; it was narrow and hard, and she could not see where it lead. But it was there, and she would follow it with patience and endurance to the end.
Stiff and chilled, Lissi rose carefully to her feet and stretched her cramped muscles. The sight of a dark, motionless figure, standing but a few yards distant, shocked her senses into alertness. Dumb in her grief, she had heard no one approach. "Who is there?" she demanded in a low, steady voice. Beneath her cloak, her hand grasped Faerim's sword.
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