So, she had headed for Tarant. A rather inconvenient idea for him, not because of the memories; he had plenty of them, and very few good ones. Perhaps the better ones were those related to the people he had met a lifetime before, when he and his father lived in the Morbihan Forests, before Bates and his human greed turned them into the isolated plains they were now, and reduced his father, a forest ranger, to a graveyard keeper. The only good thing about Tarant had been Eien, the half-breed child. He had felt a strong bond with her, perhaps because both of them were outcasts. When the child had become a young woman... He found himself back in the graveyard. His eyes narrowed as he remembered... His father moved slowly, almost like a human. He despised him for acting like that. The old elf raised his elven look from the book he was reading and stared at him. There was his look again, the same old piercing stare he had always received. "If you have come to see me, nothing good can come out of it. I can sense it, you know. The evil within has come out." He sneered. "And what would you know about it?" Something tickled at the back of his mind. The book. The bastard of his father had had the book he had been looking for, just before he'd killed him. He went down the ladder, across the corridor, through the debris of the door. He browsed through the stone-cold room and he saw it. The broken mirror, the string, the hollow brick. Surely, she had found it first. He felt his blood boil. Closing his eyes, he got an image of the other girl, boarding a ship. "Oh no, my friend," he said aloud, "you're not travelling alone."