When you have seen the abyss, and we have looked into it, then what?
~Elie Wiesel
I awaken some time later, although it’s impossible to tell how much time has passed. The side of my face is pressed to a cold floor, the faint breeze in the room cuts right through my ragged clothes. I start to sit up, then gasp in agony, as the deep cuts in my back send blazes of pain through me. Very carefully, I manage to maneuver myself into a sitting position, tears streaming down my face, my teeth clenched, running through every swear word I’ve ever learned between gasps of pain. A bit of moonlight seeps in through a tiny window.
I lever myself into a standing position with even more care than before and limp over to the window. It’s maybe a foot high, and half as wide, but it’s enough to feel the night air and feel the soft breeze. I tilt my face up, closing my eyes, and breath in the sweet smell of the peaceful night.
The feelings of the shift stir inside me, despite the pain, and a moment later, I’m a small nightswallow slipping through the bars of the window and taking flight. The night is cool and peaceful, but it takes me a few minutes to get my bearings. If Ethlenden is still alive, he would have continued to Resthaven, not back to Kaythos. I turn to the west and fly as far as I can until my strength gives out.
I awaken the next morning, shivering, my back aching terribly. The ground is covered with a light frost, and I wonder just how long I was prisoner of the demons. Ethlenden and I left in mid-autumn; this is early winter. I wonder if he’s given me up for dead. I wonder if he’s even alive to give up on me.
But all this ridiculous meditating gets me no closer to Resthaven, so I carefully pull myself to my feet, my back hurting worse than yesterday because of the flying, and shift to a small wolf. I turn away from the rising sun and limp off, toward Resthaven. Toward hope.
Every day is a new and inventive form of torture. My injuries prevent me from traveling far, and every day drags by, slowly and painfully. Food is scarce, too, and I’m feeling weaker and weaker. I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever make it to Resthaven. I’m starting to wonder if there’s even any hope in going to Resthaven if Ethlenden is dead. But I keep going, for, after all, there is nowhere else I can go.
After six long, hard days, I finally stand outside the walls of Resthaven, trembling with cold, exhaustion, and hunger, and let my eyes roam over the city. It’s every bit as beautiful as Ethlenden said it was. The walls are high and white, and shimmer golden in the sunlight. Delicate towers reach for the sky, their roofs as smooth and polished as glass. All around it is an aura of peace, harmony, simple beauty. I can’t possibly go wrong here.
I slowly make my way to the gates, ignoring the feeling of light-headedness that is gradually becoming stronger. Each step becomes a bit more cautious, and when I finally join the trickle of people entering, I have to pause and catch my breath before continuing. When I finally get inside, an Elvish guard in brightly shining armor stops me, as the others before me were also stopped.
“Name and business,” he demands in a businesslike tone, although he gives me a puzzled look upon seeing my clothes and distinctly non-Elvish face.
I try to answer, but the whole world is starting to spin, and the guard’s sudden words of concern are garbled and make no sense. Everything is falling...falling...