form, for there was no limit to what he could imagine.
Now and again, Allanon came to him. He was almost white
now, a dark shade become a ghost, fading lines against the
light. He spoke with Walker, but the words translated more as
feelings than as thoughts. He was slipping farther and farther
from the world of light and substance and deeper into the neth-
erworld of afterlife. He seemed satisfied that he was leaving,
he seemed at peace.
And sometimes, when Walker’s heart was quiet and his
mind at rest, Cogline would be there, too. The old man would
draw close, his body a knotted collection of sticks, his hair
wispy and tossed about, his features sharp and his eyes clear,
and he would smile and nod. Yes, Walker, he would say. You
have done well.