He took a few steps forward, and the cat turned away again,
moving off into the trees.
They wound through the darkened forest for long minutes,
moving silently, steadily into the night. Moonlight flooded the
open spaces, and Par had little trouble following. He watched
the cat move effortlessly ahead of him, barely disturbing the
forest about him, a creature that seemed to have the substance
of a shadow. His shock was fading now, replaced by curiosity.
Someone had sent the cat to him, and he thought he knew who.
Finally, they reached a clearing in which several streams emp-
tied through a series of tiny rapids into a wide, moonlit pool.
The trees here were very old and broad, and their limbs cast an
intricate pattern of shadows over everything. The cat walked
over to the pool, drank deeply for a moment, then sat back and
looked at him. Par came forward a few steps and stopped.
“Hello, Par,” someone greeted.
The Valeman searched the clearing for a moment before find-
ing the speaker, who sat well back in the dark on a buried stump,
barely distinguishable from the shadows about him. When Par
hesitated, he rose and stepped into the light.
“Hello, Walker,” Par replied softly.
His uncle was very much as he remembered him-and at the
same time completely different. He was still tall and slight, his
Elven features apparent though not as pronounced as Par’s, his
skin a shocking white hue that provided a marked contrast to
the shoulder-length black hair and close-cropped beard. His eyes
hadn’t changed either; they still looked right through you, even
when shadowed as they were now. What was different was more
difficult to define. It was mostly in the way Walker Boh carried
himself and the way he made Par feel when he spoke, even
though he had said almost nothing. It was as if there were an
invisible wall about him that nothing could penetrate.
Walker Boh came forward and took Par’s hands in his own.
He was dressed in loose-fitting forest clothing-pants, tunic, a
short cloak, and soft boots, all colored like the earth and trees.
“Have you been comfortable at the cottage?” he asked.
Par seemed to remember himself then. “Walker, I don’t un-
derstand. What are you doing out here? Why didn’t you meet
us when we arrived? Obviously, you knew we were coming.”
His uncle released his hands and stepped away. “Come sit
with me, Par,” he invited, and moved back again into the shad-
ows without waiting for his nephew’s response. Par followed,
and the two seated themselves on the stump from which Walker
had first risen.
Walker looked him over carefully. “I will only be speaking
with you,” he said quietly. “And only this once.”
Par waited, saying nothing. “‘There have been many changes
in my life,” his uncle went on after a moment. “I expect you
remember little of me from your childhood, and most of what
you remember no longer has much to do with who I am now in
any case. I gave up my Vale life, any claim to being a Southland-
er, and came here to begin again. I left behind me the madness
of men whose lives are governed by the baser instincts. I sepa-
rated myself from men of all races, from their greed and their
prejudice, their wars and their politics, and their monstrous con-
ception of betterment. I came here. Par, so that I could live
alone. I was always alone, of course; I was made to feel alone.
The difference now is that I am alone, not because others choose
it for me, but because I choose it for myself. I am free to be
exactly what I am-and not to feel strange because of it.”
He smiled family. “It is the time we live in and who we are
that make it difficult for both of us, you know. Do you under-
stand me. Par? You have the magic, too-a very tangible magic
in your case. It will not win you friends; it will set you apart.
We are not permitted to be Ohmsfords these days because
Ohmsfords have the magic of their Elven forebears and neither